Murder and a Family Reunited
by Aviva Tsuion
Summary: Albus Severus Potter never fit in. That's why he left home at the age of 17 and hasn't been back for ten years. He's made his own life as Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant consulting detective. When a wizard is murdered and his father, head auror, turns to him for help, he is forced to return to the home he left all those years ago. Contains Sherlock/John.
1. Albus Severus Potter

Author's note: I own neither Harry Potter nor Sherlock nor The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Features mild slash.

**Chapter 1: Albus Severus Potter**

Albus Severus Potter drunk the first day of school rush in like it was water. He loved the chaos, he always had loved having a purpose, having some form of time crunch. He lived for those rare, precious minutes of pressure, and he was only 11. He smiled a lot back then. Sure, there was some pressure from being the first of his siblings to go to Hogwarts – James had been going to muggle school for as long as Albus remembered – but that made him all the more excited. James had even tagged along to see his younger brother off before leaving for his first year at college.

Albus was packed in record time and soon enough they were all headed out the door. They piled into their dad's car, the one he had for work as head auror. Albus zoned out, ignoring his father's conversation with James about some boring Ministry business, and Lily's complaints about not going to Hogwarts. They arrived at the busy station, Albus looked all around him with wide eyes, trying to take in it all. His eyes swept over the people, mentally separating the tourists from the businesspeople, as his older brother had taught him.

They made their way to barrier between platforms nine and ten. Albus hesitated, was he really expected to walk through a solid wall? By all accounts it didn't make sense. He had been reading his brother's physics books in his spare time, he would know. His father noticed, and reassuringly grabed his hand to lead him through the barrier. He winced as he stepped through, but it didn't hurt, and before he knew it, they were on the other side, in the middle of a platform filled with people pushing trolleys. The sound of hooting owls filled the air.

Thick white steam, coming from the scarlet Hogwarts Express made the whole scene hazy, almost like something from a dream. They waded through the crowd until they as good as ran in to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. Hugo, who Lily was so thrilled to see she forgot to be upset about not going to Hogwarts yet, and Rose were with them. She ran over and hugged him as the adults started talking. He felt a wave of relief at seeing the familiar face of his cousin.

"Al! Aren't you excited? But also kind of nervous? I have some spells down just in case, but I'm not sure if they'll be enough..." Rose always chattered when she was nervous.

Al laughed, "Calm down, it'll be fine." he told her with a faux arrogant air. It didn't stop his nervous fidgeting or the hint of wild nervousness in his voice.

"Rose, how nice to see you." James walked up and extended a hand for her to shake.

Rose took it and replied "Nice to see you too." though she didn't manage to hold in her laughter.

Recently James had started acting all "proper." Albus assumed it was muggle school getting to him.

Their ears perked up as they heard Ron say from nearby, "If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you, but no pressure."

Ginny scolded him for it, but as far as Albus and Rose were concerned, it was too late. What if they weren't in Gryffindor? What if they were in Slytherin?

"He doesn't mean it." Hermine said.

It still didn't help. Ron said something to Rose, but Albus wasn't listening any more. He turned to his father and mother, but they were both involved in the conversation. James was nowhere to be found, probably talking to Uncle Percy. He looked around, searching for a distraction, when his brother's words returned to him. He had time, he should probably practice his "deduction," as James called it. So he did. That older woman with a young boy, she was his grandmother, the ring on her finger said she was married, but a certain look about her said widow... That man nearby, he had two kids, but no wife, and no ring, but he didn't look sad, and nor did the kids, though they all looked hassled, divorced then. Probably she divorced him...

"It's nearly eleven, you'd better get on board." his father announced, bringing Albus back down to Earth.

"Bye Al!" Lily latched onto him for a moment, before kissing her brother on the cheek and running off to play with Hugo.

"Bye Lil." he replied with a slight smile.

"Don't forget to give Neville our love." Ginny told Albus as she hugged him, "See you at Christmas."

Albus nodded, only half listening as his nervousness mounted.

"I expect you to have top marks and practice your deduction." James said, shaking his hand, before pulling his little brother into a hug, "Good luck, Al."

"Thanks James." he replied, forcing himself not to cry.

Albus detached himself from his older brother and hugged his father.

"Bye, Al." his father said, "Don't forget Hagrid's invited you to tea next Friday. Don't mess with Peeves. And don't duel anyone till you've learned how."

"What if I'm in Slytherin?" he asked, whispering so only his father could hear.

His father crouched down so their faces were at the same level. "Albus Severus," he said quietly, "you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew."

"But just say-" Albus insisted, trying to get his father to see the disaster that could occur.

"-then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."

"Really?" it sounded too good to be true.

"It did for me."

Albus looked at his father, his eyes wide in surprise. The slamming of doors all along the train forced him back to reality. He jumped into the carriage and his mother closed the door behind him.

"Why are they all staring?" Albus demanded, as he noticed so many pairs of eyes aimed at him.

Ron replied, "Don't let it worry you. It's me. I'm extremely famous."

Albus laughed, joined by Rose, Hugo and Lily.

The train started moving and Albus craned out the window, waving frantically at his father as he walked along the train. But his father was soon out of sight and eventually he pried himself away from the window. He found himself alone. All the other kids had gone to look for compartments already. He found Rose and sat with her, they were soon joined by Scorpius Malfoy. He and Rose argued while Albus daydreamed. With one thing and another the train ride passed.

The train rolled to a stop. There was chaos as hundreds of students flooded off the train. Older students were making their way to horseless carriages, but younger students, like Albus, found themselves lost.

"First years over here!" Hagrid called out from the shore of a giant, glassy lake.

Albus couldn't help but grin at seeing the familiar face. As he approached the shore of the lake, he saw a fleet of little boats, the type that would be used with paddles, all bobbing in the water.

"Oy, Al! You look just like yer father when he was yer age!" it was Hagrid, his voice boomed over the din.

"Hey Hagrid!" Albus called out.

"So, everyone partner up and get in one of the boats." Hagrid announced.

Albus found himself sitting with a nervous looking girl who wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Keep yer hands and feet in the boats!" Hagrid called out, and the boats began to move as if by their own volition.

Albus was used to magic, his parents used it all the time, they had a house-elf for goodness's sake, but they rarely did anything this large scale. Albus was trying to figure out what spell was responsible and how long it would take for him to learn it, when the girl across from him spoke up.

"Hey, I'm Lauren Finnegan." she smiled and extended a hand.

"Albus Potter, but you can call me Al." he took it and they shook hands.

When silence fell, she continued "Your dad is _the_ Harry Potter?"

"Is there any other?" Albus replied, kind of confused.

She laughed, "No, I suppose not."

Albus simply shook his head and changed the topic, "What house do you want to get into?"

"I don't know. I guess Gryffindor, though as long as it's not Slytherin, it'll be fine with me."

"Silence!" a man called out, it was Neville "The sorting will now begin."

Lauren was silenced as the hat began to sing. It sung of each house, telling their qualities. And then Neville started calling out names, all in alphabetical order. The mentioned students stepped forwards. Some seemed nervous, others calm. Scorpius was sorted into Gryffindor – lucky! – while Lauren went to Slytherin. Finally Albus heard his name echo around the chamber. It was eerily silent. He was sure no one else had received this level of attention, but it just made him more nervous. With a steadying breath, he strode to the hat, with speed born of nerves, and put it over his head. It fell until his eyes were covered and all he saw was rough cloth.

"You're smart very smart, brilliant, in fact, but you're not much of a wizard. You actually did show signs of magic eventually, but not much, no not much at all. But you're here, and here to stay. Now, where to put you? All your family's been in Gryffindor, but your intelligence is your greatest quality. You'll do well in RAVENCLAW." it called out the last word for all the room to hear.

Albus found himself running to the Ravenclaw table, a wide grin across his face. It didn't even consider Slytherin, and that was a victory in its self! It had said he wasn't much of a wizard, but if he wasn't a wizard, why was he at Hogwarts, and why did any of this matter, he wasn't Slytherin! He was breathing fast, his face was flushed. The others at his table were cheering him on. It took him a moment to calm down, but he did and soon enough he was breathing normally. He really needed to stop getting so nervous.

He heard Rose being sorted into Gryffindor. That meant he was alone, but he would make friends, of course he would. The rest of the meal passed in a bombardment of questions. The food was amazing, of course, but he felt like he barely had a chance to eat it with all the questions about his dad. He wondered if Rose was getting so many questions about her family. That first night he went to bed happy and full.

The next morning he woke up early, dressed fast as he could. After getting lost several times, he managed to find his way to the dining hall as everyone else was beginning to stream in. Albus was rather proud of himself, to say the least. He deserved it, the rest of the week was no where near as good. That first morning he received the schedule he was to follow for the rest of the year. His first class was charms with the Hufflepuffs.

First, there was role call. That meant everyone stared at him from the get go, the instant his name was mentioned, people started to talk and possibly even dare someone to come over and ask him if his father "really is the famous Harry Potter." By the end of that first week Albus hated his last name. But the worst wasn't role call, no it was the classes themselves. No one expected you to get it right on your first try, but they did expect _something_ to happen. A lot of people messed up, but at least they made something explode or burned a hole in something or even just made sparks in the process.

With Albus nothing happened. It was terrible. Take charms for example, they had started with a simple spell, Wingardium Leviosa, that was it. Albus knew the incantation and he knew the motion, he had memorized it the instant the teacher showed it to them. With a simple, cocky ease, he had sat there, pointed at the feather, done the motion, said the words, and he had done it perfectly mind you. Nothing happened. He tried again, and again, and again. Eventually he lost patience, but even then, no accidental magic, accidental magic had only happened to him twice.

Even when the rest of the class started to get things, he _couldn't_. He studied magic theory until he understood it perfectly, he spent that entire week holed up in the library trying to figure out why it wouldn't work, he wasn't a squib, not like James. He had done accidental magic, only twice, but still, he was at Hogwarts, that had to count for something, right? The only classes he could really do were herbology and potions, the two classes that required no magical effort whatsoever. Herbology he found to be boring, no matter how cool Professor Longbottom was. Potions, on the other hand, was _fun_, he loved it. He was by far the best student in the class and the teacher appreciated his natural talent. That potions dungeon soon became his favorite place in the building.

A letter from Hagrid had come earlier in the week, confirming that he would spend his free period with him on Friday afternoon. He had instantly agreed and headed over there at the allotted time, though he had half a mind to skip and get some extra sleep. When he arrived, he was glad he had decided to go. Hagrid welcomed him and asked if he was okay, no one had done that all week.

"Exhausted." he replied and fell on to the couch.

"The firs' week of firs' year is rough, but it's not usually this rough..." Hagrid remarked, as he set about making some tea.

"I can't do magic."

"Nonsense, of course you can do magic. Yer Harry Potter's son!"

"James can't." Albus sighed. He took a piece of paper from his bag and pointed his wand at it. "Wingardium Leviosa." he said, with perfect pronunciation and intonation.

Nothing happened. He said it again. Again, nothing. Over and over until he was sure his point was proven. Then he collapsed back into the couch again.

The weeks passed and eventually, after hours and hours of practice, and hours and hours of magical theory he got it. If he focused really hard, put all his will and effort into the idea of performing a spell and said the incantation and did the motion, he could do magic. His first success landed him in the hospital wing for a week because he passed out from exhaustion. It got better, not much better, but if he ate a lot of chocolate, he could do transfiguration and perform spells and keep consciousness. Soon enough he didn't even need chocolate to remain conscious, though he needed to rest for a while after all the magic he did.

Potions was his main refuge. There he was _the_ best. He learned at an exponential rate and loved it. But that didn't protect him from the teasing. Albus was a Ravenclaw, Ravenclaws tended to keep to themselves, they were all the smartest students and did the best in their classes. But Albus found out the hard way, even though they were smart Ravenclaws were kids, just like the rest. He was snubbed and pushed aside, taunted and teased in a way that was just as immature as anyone else their age.

Albus had to learn quick, and he succeeded, he grew a thick skin, got smart enough to tell the most personal details from just one glance, that was his main ammunition. Soon enough, they all knew he was brilliant, but it didn't matter, not if he couldn't do a single spell without absurd amounts of focus and chocolate. By the time they went home for winter break, he was begging to go to muggle school like his brother. His parents wouldn't hear of it, they thought it was just temporary. They never really did understand his problem with the wizarding world.

The following 7 years were just as bad. He studied and studied magic and magic theory and anything else he could find, but it wasn't enough, it was never enough. The taunting continued, but that meant he got smarter, he got better and better at deduction. But by the time he was in his 7th year he was sick and tired of it all. He took his NEWTs and didn't even bother to look at the grades he knew were awful. The train took him home with all the other students. They were all excited. He was nervous, but determined. He packed – necessities only – that very evening and set out the next morning for his brother's flat in London, without another word. He left his wand and a letter saying he was gone behind him.

Nervously, he knocked on the door to his brother's flat. He hadn't seen James in a while, sure he came for the holidays, but he always seemed so distracted, thinking of nothing but his undisclosed Ministry job. There was much talking inside before James opened the door. He looked older, tireder and fatter than when Albus had seen him last, and he wore a three-piece suit as opposed to a wizard's robes, but he was James all the same.

"You'll have to wait out here, I'll come out to fetch you in about half an hour." James whispered hurriedly and closed the door.

Albus sat outside his brother's front door for half an hour, thankfully he had left in muggle clothes. He would have tried to observe the passers-by, but he was too busy thinking about what in the world was going on with his brother. He didn't know muggle clothes and habits very well, but he knew James and James's behavior was rather clear. He was obviously talking to someone important who he couldn't afford to have see Albus. After 30 long minutes the door did open. A well dressed muggle man, who Albus could barely begin to deduce, left and James let him in.

"Albus, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?" James asked once they were both seated.

They were in the living room it was immaculate and had definitely been set up with business in mind. It looked very professional and didn't say too much about the owner.

"I left home, I want to go to college and live like a muggle, like you do." Albus replied, after a brief pause. He expected questions, a refusal maybe.

"I assume you want me to do your documents, give you a fake identity, enroll you in the university of your choice?" James said instead, with a slight smile.

Albus shook his head "I can get into schools on my own, all I need is the identity."

"You'll also need money." he said, and added on to the end "And new clothes."

"I have some galleons I want changed over into pounds." Albus held up his rather heavy pack.

"Good. Leave those with me."

Albus handed James a bag filled with gold silver and bronze pieces, which James exchanged for several rolls of paper notes with a range of numbers in the corner.

Albus inspected the strange money curiously.

"As for identity, I thought this might happen, so I prepared in advance. Your name is Sherlock Holmes, you're still my brother, my name is Mycroft Holmes. You were home-schooled for several years before being enrolled in an unusual trade school. To say the least, it didn't work out. Got it? You can enroll in whatever school you like. In the meantime, you can stay here, there's a spare bedroom."

Albus nodded.

"You may settle in tonight if you like. Now, I have a date to prepare for." with that, James, or Mycroft, as he was to be called, left for his room.

Albus, or Sherlock, as he was to call himself, lived in his brother's house until the semester began in the fall. From then on he either lived on campus or rented a of his own flat. He was never short on money, his parents gave him a regular allowance through Mycroft that was a fair amount of money. It helped that Sherlock had gotten in to the school of his choice with a full scholarship. In muggle school he excelled. He was brilliant and sped through his classes, graduating in half the time required for most.

Still, it didn't stop the taunting. Amongst muggles he was too brilliant to fit in, and too used to having to strike first. He once again became the subject of insults and hatred, but he didn't care, at least he wasn't a failure any more. During the ten years following his departure from number 12 Grimauld Place, his parents' home, he only returned once, and that was for Mycroft's wedding to a half-blood witch by the name of Mary Poppins. That was while Sherlock was only in his second year at muggle school. As for the marriage, she divorced him five years later.


	2. A Visit

Author's note: I own neither Harry Potter nor Sherlock nor The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Features mild slash.

**Chapter 2: A Visit**

Sherlock Holmes, as he had been calling himself for a long time, gradually woke up, it wasn't long after noon. For the past five days he had been working on a rather important case, and as such, he hadn't bothered to get a wink of sleep. John had been worried, of course he had been worried, John was always worried about him, so it seemed. Not like Sherlock minded, but he had been fine in the end. Well, Sherlock had been fine if, like him, you counted collapsing for an entire day out of lack of sleep to be fine.

A sharp knock at the door forced him from that comfortable place between waking and sleep into full awareness. As John answered the door, he hoped in vain that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to fall back to sleep. It was not to be.

"Stupefy!" a voice that could only be that of his sister shouted from downstairs.

Sherlock found himself running down the stairs at a record pace, to find his sister in the doorway – wearing full wizard's robes, at that – and John collapsed on the floor in front of her.

"Lily! What gave you the _brilliant_ idea to knock out my flatmate?" it would have been a perfect deadpan had it not been John, had it not been John lying there knocked out. As it was John, the effect of his words was lost and he just portrayed anger, and possibly- no definitely, a bit- okay, more than a bit, of fear.

Not like he cared, the impression his sister got of him was irrelevant. What mattered was that John was okay, and for John to be okay he had to reverse that spell, and of course, to reverse that spell, he needed a wand, or the right potion. Albus had neither.

"Sheesh." Lily replied and murmured "Enervate." under her breath.

John slowly came to. Sherlock ignored his sister and bent over John.

"Are you okay?" the words slipped from his mouth before he could contain them, but as the last year, the year since his return, had proven, containing his emotions wasn't his top priority, not any more.

John gave him that look, half amused, half exasperated, and said "Sherlock...?" expecting the detective to explain, or more likely, say he'd explain later.

Sherlock did neither, he simply crossed his fingers, so to speak, and helped John up, before stepping in front of him to face Lily directly, and protect John from any potential attacks.

"I can't believe Mycroft gave you my address. What do you want?" he snarled at his sister.

"Mycroft? And who's this?" she asked, with, did he detect a hint of flirtatiousness, no, she couldn't be flirting with _his _John...

If he hadn't seen it himself he wouldn't have believed it, but she was. He couldn't deny that John was attractive, very attractive, and could be rather adorable. But no one bothered to do anything like that, not with Sherlock there, holding his hand, draping an arm across his shoulders, the like. He was about to wrap a protective arm around John's waist when he came to his senses. She was a witch, he was a wizard, that meant they had to play by the wizarding world's rules, whether he lived in that world anymore or not.

"My flatmate." he replied, with an unspoken threat in his voice "John meet my younger sister, Lily, meet _my_ flatmate John." He stepped aside for them to shake hands.

"Nice to meet you." John spoke with his usual affability that Sherlock couldn't help but admire.

"You too." Lily all but purred.

Sherlock found it sickening. They eventually stepped apart and Sherlock resumed his position between them.

"What do you want?" he demanded yet again.

"I _want_ to invite you to Christmas, though your flatmate can come to."

"Not happening." He cut her off before she could continue "I know mom and dad put you up to this. I also know that you just broke up with your boyfriend of two years, so it's a bit soon for a rebound, don't you agree."

He attempted to heard her out the door, but Lily refused to move, instead she seemed thrilled.

"You have been paying attention! I knew James was keeping in touch with you, but I didn't know you were keeping up with the family, please come! Please!"

John was glancing between the two of them with a look of confusion. He wasn't sure what Sherlock had seen to deduce that his sister had recently broken up with her boyfriend of two years, but he was sure Sherlock had deduced it, he just had that air about him, as if he was showing off. The odd thing was that anyone who had spent any amount of time around Sherlock would just assume he had deduced something, even his old college "friend" he hadn't seen in a few years had alluded to it, but here was his sister, who didn't know who Mycroft was, and she had no idea. But that was Sherlock for you, maybe it was something for a case, though convincing someone he was their brother seemed a bit much for even him to pull off...

"You've missed me, but it's more than that, no you want my approval, something that never happened, you think you might have a chance to win my approval if I go to Christmas and spend more time with the family. You also want a chance to flirt with my flatmate."

"Sherlock..." John warned, whatever this was about, Sherlock was going to be polite, and John would see to it.

Lily looked like she was about to cry, but managed to hold it in, all the Holmes siblings were fairly good at controlling their emotions, so it seemed.

"Fine!" she shouted, "I know you don't care about me or mummy or daddy! We just want you to come home, but fine! You don't want us, well it's your loss!" and turned around to walk out the door.

"Sherlock..." John said even more threateningly.

"Fine!" Sherlock exclaimed, exasperated.

He was going to regret this, he was sure, but between Lily who looked so upset, and John who was getting angry at him – and he did not want to face an angry John Watson – it was worth it. And maybe, just maybe there was part of him that wanted him to go home and see his family again, or at least not upset his younger sister. He called out to her "Fine! We'll be there."

The transformation was astounding. Lily spun on the spot and leaped up the stairs three at a time "Thank you so much." she hugged both her brother and his flatmate, before bouncing back down the stairs and skipping out the door.

Sherlock felt drained. He had just been woken up from sleeping off a long case, and already he was agreeing to go to have Christmas with his family. He needed a nap. But that wasn't going to happen, John was giving him a look that clearly said, "You have something to explain." and he did, especially if John was going with him for Christmas. He was considering just waving it off and telling John he shouldn't come, but John wouldn't like that, and honestly, Sherlock wasn't quite sure if he could put up with his dear family alone. He sighed and sat down as if he was about to listen to a case. John sat down across from him and watched him expectantly.

"You have questions." Sherlock began, just as he had in that cab what felt like several years ago, though he knew for a fact it had only been a little less than four.

John smiled briefly at the memory before replying in all seriousness "What did she do to me? She pulls out a stick, says some made up word and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground waking up from being knocked out."

Sherlock sighed, he might as well get it over with "She's a witch."

John looked at him, his expression half reproachful half confused. Whatever he had been expecting, that wasn't it, especially not with the odd, non-insulting intonation... "She's not that bad." he replied, though it was obvious he was unsure if that was the right thing to say.

"No, not like that, I mean she can do magic, and so can I, not anywhere near as much as she can, but I can."

Disbelief, that was the first thing that came to John's mind, but he had seen it with his own eyes. He had seen the stick in her hand, heard her shout some nonsense that sounded like "Stupify." and had even seen a red flash before collapsing. He found himself nodding, this he could deal with, oddly enough.

"So you have a sister...?" he asked the next question that came to mind.

"Yes, she still lives with our parents." Sherlock hadn't expected John to just accept it like that, but that was John for you, he trusted him, and it was amazing, especially at times like these.

"Why doesn't she know who Mycroft is?"

"We changed our names." Sherlock replied like it was obvious "We definitely couldn't keep our last names, and people would have recognized our first names by then."

"What, were you some kind of celebrity?" John intended the comment to be sarcastic.

Sherlock merely shrugged "Dad's been famous all his life, as the savior of the wizarding world and all. The whole family was pretty well known as a result."

"What's your real name then?"

"Albus Severus Potter." Sherlock said it reluctantly.

"Sherlock it is." John smiled, easily picking up on Sherlock's reluctance.

Sherlock found himself smiling too, until he realized the next question that had to be coming. He quickly explained it just to get it over with. "I left because I didn't fit in, my family was all great witches and wizards, all except me and Mycroft, or James as we called him then. He was a squib, someone who couldn't do any magic, I was close. I barely got into Hogwarts, school for witches and wizards, but I did, and went for seven years, not a nice place, dad liked it, but not for me, too boring."

John recognized the cover up, but didn't say anything.

"I left as soon as I could." Sherlock continued "Went to college. Mycroft forged all the necessary documents, though I got in on my own."

"So your family is where all the money comes from... I'm surprised you let them pay for everything for you." John teased.

Sherlock shrugged "The family's rich, it doesn't really matter. And I get it through Mycroft, it's best not to have to worry about money anyways."

"Why were you looking for a flatmate then?" John said, laughing.

"Bored." Sherlock replied in his off-hand "isn't it obvious" sort of way.

"Of course you were." John kissed.

They went on to more interesting things and they didn't finish the conversation until the next morning. John was eating breakfast by the time Sherlock Holmes, dressed in his favorite silk night clothes, walked downstairs and grabbed a mug of coffee – two sugars, no cream – before walking into the living room, kissing John on the lips and taking his usual seat by the fireplace. They sat in silence for a few minutes, John read the paper, looking for anything worth reading, while Sherlock sipped at his coffee.

The detective glanced outside, it was windy and grey and he was in the mood for a case. He wasn't quite bored yet, but he was on the edge. And then there were the holidays, he supposed there was no getting out of it after he had agreed, it was a shame really, they would have to be careful...

Shit, he had forgotten to tell John... Reluctantly he cleared his throat and began "When we go for Christmas..."

"Yes?" John put down the paper, folded it up, and turned to Sherlock.

"The wizarding world isn't so accepting of our... type..." he continued lamely "I mean to say, there are laws, and us, we're illegal, and I..." he trailed off.

John simply nodded "We'll just have to be careful then."

John had barely finished speaking when they heard a single, sharp knock at the door. While John stood to answer it, Sherlock internally berated himself for having been so distracted by his conversation with John that he hadn't noticed the sleek black car parking rolling up to the curb. It was a ministry car, which could mean only one thing, Mycroft.

"John, how nice to see you." he heard his brother's voice calling from the door way "I perceive you two have been doing well. I also have been informed you will be joining us for Christmas." this he said more to Sherlock than to John.

Sherlock stood and faced his brother. "What did you give them our address for?" he demanded.

"I thought it was high time John met our family, don't you agree? Don't tell me you were thinking of hiding it from him forever."

"So what if I was? It wasn't your place to be letting Lily waltz right in and start casting spells like she does!"

"Oh, of course, silly me." he turned to John "You're not sustaining any permanent damage from our dear sister's visit, I hope."

"I'm fine." John waved off the question.

It seemed to work, as Mycroft's attention snapped back to Sherlock, John immediately felt bad for not attempting to distract him from Sherlock further, as Mycroft said "See, he's fine. Our _parents_ have been missing you terribly. It has been ten years, after all."

"What about the statue of secrecy?"  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his younger brother, "I've taken care of that."

"Of course. And I assume you've taken care of the sodomy laws too." sarcasm dripped from Sherlock's voice, "You're just inviting them to send us to Azkaban."

"You'll just have to be careful, I am aware you just told John about the law. If all else fails, I'll cover for you until the law is repealed. It shouldn't be too long now, especially not with Aunt Hermione's efforts." Sherlock was about to reply when Mycroft continued "I must be going." he left with a smile that didn't stretch to his eyes.

"That bloody wanker!" Sherlock exclaimed, beginning a tirade against his brother that lasted the rest of the morning. John was relived when a case finally interrupted him.


	3. Christmas

Author's note: I own neither Harry Potter nor Sherlock nor The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Features mild slash.

**Chapter 3: Christmas**

"Sherlock!" John shouted up the stairs, at the consulting detective that was presumably getting ready in their room "It's time to go!"

A minute passed an still no reply. Sherlock had been up there for over an hour "getting ready" John wasn't quite sure what Sherlock was doing anymore. Knowing him, it was probably some form of experiment with chemicals he technically shouldn't own. John was about to go up there and check when Sherlock Holmes came running down the stairs, dressed in one of his nicer outfits. If the rest of Sherlock's family dressed at all like he and Mycroft did, John was way under-dressed, but Sherlock had said it would be fine. Anyways, John was rather beyond caring about appearances after spending so much time around Sherlock and his unusualness.

"What took you so long?" John asked conversationally as they waited for a cab.

Sherlock motioned towards the bag of presents in his free hand – the one that wasn't holding John's hand – and replied "Well, that, and an owl." as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"An owl?"

"Wizards use them, for mail. It's faster than the postal system, but it has nothing on texting." Sherlock explained, "Mummy was just confirming that we were coming."

John nodded with a slight smile, as Sherlock waved over a cab. According to Sherlock the young man driving them was "definitely not a serial killer" and needed the money to pay for school. They spent the next few minutes laughing, and were soon quite confident the cabby thought they were insane. They spent the rest of the ride talking, as they often did, with their hands gently interlocking. By the time they reached Grimauld Place, they had to tear themselves from the conversation and get out of the cab.

It was snowing. The short winter day had long ago ended, scattered street lamps provided the only light in orangish-yellow pools. With a sharp wind, it was cold. Sherlock and John reluctantly separated their hands, as Sherlock led the way down the street. They had suddenly fallen silent, but it wasn't awkward. In a way they wished they could be out there forever in the peacefulness, maybe sit on one of the neighbors' front steps and spend the night in a silent vigil, wrapped in each other's arms. But it was not to be. They stopped at the spot between numbers 11 and 13, where it seemed the builders had skipped house. For a moment they stood there, Sherlock gave John one last kiss for the evening before breaking the silence.

"Number 12 Grimauld Place." he said, John would have called it anti-climactic if Sherlock didn't seem so... on edge.

For a moment nothing happened, John was sure that if anyone else had been there it would have been awkward, but Sherlock didn't seem disappointed, and soon nor was John. Before their eyes a house, not unlike the others, appeared, squeezing it's way into existence from between numbers 11 and 13. It looked very full. John glanced at Sherlock, he seemed calm, bored almost , this was obviously a normal occurrence in the wizarding world, houses appearing from nowhere.

"Doesn't this violate..." John began, almost positive you couldn't make something from nothing.

"As far as I'm aware, it's invisible to the neighbors and is hidden by an illusions of sorts. Either that or it's some form of portal and the house is actually somewhere else entirely that we're just seeing as if it's here. I'm thinking more likely the former." Sherlock interrupted with his explanation.

John nodded.

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked, indicating the house, though John thought the sentence could easily have been ended with "get this over with."

All the same, he nodded yet again, and Sherlock led the way up to the door. He hesitated ever so briefly before knocking once, twice, and dropped his hand. The door was answered around 30 seconds later by a flushed-looking Lily.

"Albus!" she exclaimed at the sight of her older brother "You're here!"

She hugged them both and proceeded to drag them into the house "You have to see mummy and daddy, they'll be thrilled to see you! And I bet they wouldn't mind meeting _you_!" she was obviously referring to John.

John had no idea how they didn't get separated in the crowd, so many people just standing in their way and talking. Others milled around to greet relatives they hadn't seen in ages. John wasn't sure how those people didn't get lost either. And all the while, children ran underfoot. Between it all, he could barely hear himself think, though he could see Sherlock analyzing all their fellow guests. That was Sherlock for you. All John had time to notice was that more than half of the people there had red hair, most of it bright.

He found himself in the kitchen. It was less crowded, but after having to dodge a flying knife, followed by an, also flying, pot of boiling water, he knew why. A man and woman, presumably the host and hostess, were busy, wands in hands, cooking. But it was cooking like John had never seen it before, they weren't doing any of the stirring or any of that, though it looked exhausting all the same. Instead they were waving their wands and murmuring incantations under their breaths. But even with that, it seemed like the kitchen was operating on its own. John found himself rather amazed. He saw that Sherlock was at least amused at his amazement. As they walked in the woman stopped and put down her wand, letting the man continue the cooking.

"Albus!" she exclaimed, and hugged Sherlock. By the way the detective tensed up, John wondered if Sherlock had been hugged this much in his life, by anyone other than John that was.

John got his first impression of her when she stepped away. She looked in fairly good shape for someone her age, she had probably played sports for a while or something like that.

"And who's this?" she asked upon noticing John.

"This," Sherlock cut off his sister before she could begin talking "is Dr. John Watson, recently returned from Afghanistan-"

"Not that recently." John interrupted.

Sherlock ignored it "He's _my_ flatmate." he shot a pointed glance at his sister, though flatmate wasn't exactly much of a claim on someone, particularly not for them under the circumstances.

"Lily's told us so much about you. I'm their mom, you can call my Ginny." they shook hands, she was definitely a former athlete.

John smiled, "It's nice to meet you."

"And I'm their dad." the man had put down his wand and was facing John, an arm around his wife's shoulders. On his forehead he had a scar that looked like he had been in combat, and there was something distinctly... PTSD about him, he also looked kind of like a military man, nothing too formal, but definitely something... violent, maybe police?

"Nice to meet you, sir." John shook his hand, they both had strong grips.

The man thought for a moment before shaking his head and turned to Sherlock, "Albus, you didn't tell us your flatmate was a muggle." it sounded almost like he was scolding Sherlock Holmes.

What was even odder was that Sherlock replied defensively, "Lily told you he was coming."

"You know the Statute of Secrecy."

"He's trustworthy. Anyways, Mycroft's got it all cleared up, and it isn't like anyone would believe him. If he did tell."

"Mycroft?" Lily piped up.

"James." Sherlock explained, his voice dripping with more than the usual irritation.

Lily seemed about to retort when Sherlock's dad intervened "Lily, Albus." he said their names threateningly "If you're going to fight, don't do it in the kitchen."

Sherlock went to the corner to sulk, John ignored it like he usually did when Sherlock was being childish, instead he turned to Sherlock's dad "I didn't catch your name..."

The man laughed "That's because I don't usually need to say it, I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

"Sorry..." John replied, unsure if that was the right response.

"Don't be. So, what is it that you and Albus do exactly?" Harry returned to his cooking as he asked. Ginny had already gone back to work, with Lily helping.

"Well, it's him mainly, the brilliant consulting detective." John began.

Sherlock interrupted from his corner "John does more than his fair share, don't let him tell you otherwise. He's also working on writing a book."

"Really?" Harry seemed genuinely interested.

"Well, since the blog didn't work out..." he trailed off.

"Blog...?" Harry asked.

"They don't have internet." Sherlock explained as he walked back to his spot next to John.

"Oh. It's like a journal, but on the computer where everyone can read it." John attempted.

"Ah. The wizarding world must seem pretty slow to you." he joked.

"No, not really." John smiled.

Sherlock tapped his foot on the floor impatiently. John put a hand on Sherlock's to quiet him, but Sherlock pulled away. It took John a moment to remember, that law, right...

"So, what's a, consulting detective, is it?" Harry asked.

"When the police are out of their depths – which is always – they come to me." Sherlock explained simply.

"He-" a glance from Sherlock "We take whatever cases the police need help on, and any private cases Sherlock deems interesting enough." John finished on a teasing note.

"We hear the case, check out the scene, do some investigating of our own." Sherlock finished.

Harry nodded "Sounds exciting."

"What do you do?" John asked.

"I'm head of the auror office, kind of like your chief of police, though with a much smaller department." he smiled again.

"I work as the head of the department of magical games and sports." Ginny added "Though I used to play Quidditch for England."

"Excuse me?" John asked.

"You don't know what Quidditch is?" Lily exclaimed.

"Basketball but with three hoops and played on broom-sticks." Sherlock ignored her.

"Broom sticks?" John glanced at Sherlock, eyebrows raised in surprise, he was on the verge of laughter.

Sherlock merely nodded, though his expression was smug.

"Albus!" a young woman with bushy brown hair shouted from the door way, and ran up to hug Sherlock "I heard you were here, but I didn't believe it. It's been so long, ten years. How are you? You remember Scorpius." she motioned to a man with platinum blond hair behind her. A child was cradled in his arms.

"Rose, Scorpius." Sherlock nodded coldly at each of them in greeting.

"What's gotten into you?" Rose demanded "You run away from home and when you see everyone for the first time in ten years all you have to say is our names?"

Scorpius put a comforting hand on Rose's arm, John did the same for Sherlock without even thinking. This time Sherlock was too busy arguing to notice.

"I had my reasons for leaving." he drew himself to his full height, so that he towered above everyone else, and took a few steps towards his cousin.

"I didn't say you don't, I'm just saying it'd be nice to see you every once in a while, that's all!" she spun around and stalked out of the room, her husband in tow.

"Yes, I get it, I'm sorry." Sherlock called out behind her, though he didn't sound that sorry, it was as close as he ever got.

"Albus, go after your cousin and apologize, she has really missed you." Harry ordered.

To John's surprise, Sherlock did as he was bid and left the room after her. John moved to follow him, just in case, but Harry interrupted him.

"John, is it? They'll be fine. Anyways, I'd love to hear more about your work, I have a feeling you'll be more likely to explain it than Albus." he smiled.

"You sure you don't want any help?" John asked, though he honestly wasn't sure what he could do without magic.

"No, we'll be fine." Ginny was the one to reply this time.

"So, you're writing a book?" Lily walked up to him, having just finished some complicated-looking spell work.

John nodded once he was out of the way "Just some fictionalized accounts of our cases, the more interesting ones. Using fake names of course."

"So that's why you call him Sherlock Holmes, for your book?" she gave him a confused glance.

"No, that's his real name, or at least that's what everyone back home calls him. The stories would be using different names." John explained.

"Oh..." Lily replied, she was about to ask another question when a red haired man and a woman with long curly hair, who looked a lot like Rose, walked in, they were both about Sherlock's parents' age.

"Harry, nice to see you!" the man walked up to Harry.

Both Harry and Ginny stopped what they were doing and they all exchanged hugs, there were exclamations of greeting all around.

"Aunt Hermione! Uncle Ron!" Lily shouted and there was yet another round of greetings.

John had been wondering if he should go and check on Sherlock when someone, he later realized it was Lily, saying his name brought him back down to earth. He found himself shaking hands with Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, who both insisted on just being called by their given names.

"John Watson." he identified himself.

"He's an ex-army doctor who lives with Albus." Lily explained.

"Nice to meet you both." John smiled, Ron merely nodded and went back to talking avidly with Harry, Hermione looked skeptical, kind of like all those people who had assumed he and Sherlock were a couple before they actually were one – once they actually did become a couple, it was even more obvious.

"What _has_ Albus been up to all these years?" John found Hermione talking to him.

"Well, I've only known him for about three years now." John explained.

"No need to be modest, Dr. Watson." it was Mycroft, he had just entered the room apparently, and just like Sherlock, he was wearing his usual suit; everyone else was wearing robes, "You know him better than anyone else here."

John decided to ignore the interruption and just explain, "As long as I've known him, he's been a consulting detective. Picks up where the police can't. I'm his assistant, forensics expert and the like, nothing major."

Hermione nodded and turned her attention to Mycroft "James, nice to see you."

"As always, Aunt Hermione." Mycroft replied, and they hugged, John was glad to see that Mycroft was looking rather awkward – it wasn't just Sherlock.

"John," Mycroft turned towards him "I'm glad you could convince Sherlock to come."

"Er... No problem..." honestly John wasn't quite sure if Mycroft commending him was a good thing or a bad one, Mycroft seemed perfectly aware of that, and didn't press the issue.

John cleared his throat to break the silence that had followed "I'll go and check on Sherlock then." he excused himself, Lily was about to follow when Mycroft intercepted with some conversation, John noted that he should thank Mycroft for that later.

When he entered the living room, Sherlock was nowhere in sight. Instead all he could see were people, all in robes and some in pointed hats, most talking. Sherlock probably had already recognized most of them and deduced the people he hadn't recognized. John wasn't stupid, but he didn't have Sherlock's powers of deductions either, so he found himself rather lost.

"Looking for someone?" it was a man, again about Harry's age, with thick glasses and the air of a politician. Not in Mycroft's way exactly, but there was a chance that this was where he had gotten it.

"Sher- Albus, I'm looking for Albus." John explained.

"You must be Dr. Watson, James told me about you." he smiled vaguely.

John nodded "Yes, I'm him."

"You're a muggle, is that correct?"

"Muggle?" John asked, this was the second time he had heard that word in that evening alone.

"Non-magical person." the man adjusted his glasses and extended a hand to shake "I'm Percy Weasley, by the way, Senior Advisor to the Minister of Magic."

"John Watson." John replied, though it felt a bit lacking.

They shook hands briefly.

"James told me they were breaking the Statute of Secrecy for you. You're not going to tell anyone I hope."

"He's entirely trustworthy." Sherlock said from behind John's shoulder, making the ex-army doctor jump.

"Sherlock, don't do that." John exclaimed.

"Sorry." the detective waved it off though John could tell that the apology was genuine. "Uncle Percy." Sherlock nodded in greeting and turned back to John, "There's some more people I need to introduce you to."

With that Sherlock grabbed his wrist and pulled him off through the crowd until he was standing in front of an old couple seated on the couch. People surrounded them, all talking to one or the other. They seemed to be the heads of this big family.

"Grandpa Aurthur, Grandma Molly, I'd like you to meet John Watson, my flatmate." he explained, like a small child trying to please his parents.

John found it funny, but he had a feeling he would have to save his teasing for later. Instead he walked up to Sherlock's grandparents and smiled, "Nice to meet you."

He shook both their hands.

"We hope Albus isn't giving you too much trouble." Molly joked.

"No, he's not too hard to live with..." John was probably excessively proud that he hadn't mentioned the chemistry experiments, music at odd hours, and severed body parts where they shouldn't be.

"Albus, you didn't tell us your flatmate is a muggle." Arthur seemed thrilled "I've heard muggles have these things called computers..."

Arthur's question was interrupted by an announcement from the kitchen. It was Ginny, her voice so loud everyone could hear it. According to Sherlock it was some form of spell "sonorus" he whispered. John nodded. The whole place had fallen silent to listen.

"It's dinner time." was all she said and there was a sudden rush of movement.

John was about to offer to help Arthur and Molly to the table, but another cousin was already helping them, and with Sherlock holding him back, it wasn't like he was going to protest. At Sherlock's indication, they slipped through the crowd, and found themselves at corner seats from which either of them could easily slip away. Sherlock took the corner itself while John found himself one seat in, next to Hermione. Sherlock was sitting next to Rose, who had taken the baby from her husband.

As everyone got settled Sherlock leaned towards John to explain "They're really only mummy's parents, but since dad's parents died when he was a baby and he was raised by his abusive aunt and uncle, they've become his parents."

John nodded. Everyone had fallen silent once again. A small, humanoid creature wearing only a clean sheet, carried in the food. According to Hermione it was a "house-elf" named "Kreature". John didn't even bother to be confused and instead focused on the food, and getting Sherlock to eat, of course. Sherlock did eat without too much argument, it wasn't like he was in the middle of a case after all. To John's surprise, Sherlock wasn't only eating, but talking, relatively normally with Rose. John smiled.

"They've always got along well, ever since they were young." Hermione explained.

John looked at her in surprise.

"It changed when they started going to Hogwarts, but until then, and during the summer."

John nodded, it was odd, imagining a young Sherlock, someone who got along well with his family. He spent a moment thinking before he remembered what she had mentioned earlier a "house-elf" was it...

"What's a house-elf exactly?" he asked.

"Slaves." she replied disgusted "They get no pay and are forced to work for wizards their entire lives, they come with old houses, like this one, hence the name. It's awful really. Some people are perfectly nice to them, but others just treat them like trash. You'd think wizards wouldn't need slaves, but there you go. It's one of the many things wrong with this society."

There was a moment's pause, in which she took a bit of food, before she continued, "I'm the founder of WWASL, Witches and Wizards Against the Sodomy Laws. It's a full time job, nothing like heading the Department of Mysteries, but you have no idea... Well of course not, it's all top secret. Anyways, I just think it's so absurd, how the muggle world is already beginning to legalize same-sex marriage, while the wizarding world is stuck in the early 1900's." she shook her head in exasperation.

It was interesting. John still wasn't used to being the subject of this type of thing, or to put it more frankly, he wasn't used to being gay. He was used to it applying to his sister, his sister's partner at the time, maybe even some friends of his, but not himself. And he was straight, well except for Sherlock, Sherlock was the exception, but it fit, Sherlock was an exceptional sort of person. But now that he was with Sherlock, it didn't really matter that he was formerly straight, or even that Sherlock was the only man he had ever been attracted to, he counted, and people like him were the subject of those laws. It still struck him as odd.

After a few minutes deep in thought, John decided it was time to change topics, he wracked his brains for something to ask, maybe something she had mentioned... It took him a moment before he found it.

"You said something about heading a 'Department of Mysteries'?" John asked.

"Top secret government work." she explained "It's surprisingly uninteresting. I've been retired for a few years now. I assume you're not just Albus's assistant, for a living."

John laughed "Yup, that's what I do, help the great Sherlock Holmes, keep him in line and the like, though I also do take some cases of my own, mainly forensics work."

She nodded thoughtfully "I must say, Albus has changed a lot since he was here last."

"So he really hasn't been home for ten years?"

"I don't think he's considered this place to be home for a while..."

"No, I guess he doesn't."

From there the conversation wandered. By the end of the main course John felt stuffed, with both more food, and more information about the wizarding world, than he could ever need. Desert followed all too soon. John was feeling decisively overwhelmed, there was only so much social interaction he really could deal with. Anyways, he was too full for desert to be worth it. Thankfully, Hermione was busy talking to her husband, so John simply stood and wandered outside.

Sherlock noticed his partner's departure of course, he had been keeping an eye on John the entire time. He hadn't been focusing on him exactly, but as he noticed everything anyways, he had just been paying a little extra attention to him out the corner of his eye, as he always did. As soon as John left, Sherlock finished off his conversation with Rose, that had been wearing thin anyways, even with Scorpius's additions – Sherlock wondered why he had ever liked the man, he had nothing on John. With that, Sherlock left and made his way outside, where he was almost positive John had gone, despite the cold.

This time Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder to signal his arrival, he was going to speak, but there was something that stopped him. Instead he moved his arm to wrap around John's waist and they stood there in silence, leaning on the other's shoulder. They clung to each other for warmth, as they watched the snow fall around them. A sudden idea hit one or both of them, and they faced each other for a brief kiss, before returning to standing side by side.

"Thank you... for coming... with me..." Sherlock hesitantly broke the silence.

It was times like these, when he was apologizing or thanking someone, usually John, for something, when John really noticed what had changed. Usually it was just little things, like the touching or the barely noticeable increase in politeness, but he had almost never really thanked anyone or apologized for anything before his disappearance.

John replied the only way he could with another kiss, this time deeper, though still not quite _passionate_. They stood there for a little longer, just enjoying the other's company, before Sherlock opened the door and followed John inside, closing the door behind them. They were greeted by noise, mainly the buzz of conversation, though if one listened they could discern the sound of running footsteps. As quiet as it was outside, inside it was the opposite, and that made it seem all the louder. Lily met them at the door.

"Where did you guys go off to?" Lily asked.

John simply shrugged, Sherlock was about to give some form of explanation, when Lily continued.

"Come on," she grabbed John by the arm "you have to meet _everyone_!"

John was sent into a whirlwind of introductions. He was told so many names he didn't think he would remember any of them, and he was right, but Lily was relentless. Sherlock followed close behind, somehow never loosing sight of them despite the ocean of people. That was until Lily decided to interrupt Percy and Mycroft's avid discussion about some government regulation or another.

"Sherlock, just who I needed to have a word with," Mycroft turned to John, "if you don't mind, of course."

"Of course not." John replied to the question that had become quite normal ever since Sherlock's return.

With that, Mycroft led Sherlock back through the crowd. His brother was a fair bit larger than John – not that Sherlock minded John's relatively small stature – and as such, that much easier to follow. Between the two of them, they made it to the main staircase with relative ease, and Sherlock found himself being led into the study. It was a nice room, filled with notes on the auror department's latest cases. Sherlock caught the answers to two of them right off the bat. Mycroft closed the door after them and began to pace, swinging his umbrella as he walked. Sherlock supposed he must have been very nervous about something, which he was probably about to explain in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Just as Sherlock finished the count-down in his head, Mycroft began to speak "What were you thinking disappearing with Dr. Watson, here of all places? I hope neither of you were stupid enough to do anything."

Sherlock let out a mirthless laugh "And since when was my _private_ life any of _your_ business?"

"You know very well it's illegal, imagine the scandal, Harry Potter's son caught sodomizing with muggle."

"So this is about publicity, I should have known."

"It's about your and Dr. Watson's safety. You both very well know the consequences, or do you not remember that it receives a life sentence."

"Weren't you the one who said our parents would be _thrilled_ to meet John?"

"I didn't think you'd be so stupid as to disappear with him, Aunt Hermione is already suspicious. Though I doubt she'll say anything, anyone else who notices, might."

"We all know you still haven't gotten over Mary," Sherlock sneered "but I'd appreciate it if you didn't try and stop everyone else from having relationships too."

With that he spun and left, leaving Mycroft to watch him go with a morose half-frown set across his features. When Sherlock caught back up with John, he was talking to Mr. Malfoy, much to Lily's obvious disappointment. Sherlock spent the rest of the evening amusing himself with making deductions of all the relatives he hadn't seen in ages as John talked to everyone who approached them, and wound up explaining computers several dozen times.

Eventually the party did wind down. Everyone who was staying over began to say their good-nights and make their ways to where they were staying, while those who were leaving said goodbye and disapperated or flooed home. John really knew he was tired when he didn't care that people were disappearing on the spot while others stepped into the fireplace, that was filled with green flames, and spun into it. After an absurd number of apologies from Harry and Ginny, Sherlock led him up to the room they would be sharing. He took the first shower and fell asleep before Sherlock had even turned the water back on.

Come morning John finally had a chance to look around the room they were staying in. It had to have been Sherlock's at some point, it wasn't covered in information about crimes or anything like that, but between the cauldron in the corner under a giant periodic table covered in notes, and the scientific books on the bookshelf, he knew it couldn't be anyone else's.

"You like it?" Sherlock asked with some of that new anxiety just tinting his otherwise joking voice.

John grinned and replied "It's very you."

Sherlock nodded "I suppose it is."

For a moment they lay there in silence before Sherlock suddenly exclaimed "Is that...? I can't believe they left it there!"

John awaited an explanation. He removed himself from the detective's chest, so Sherlock could stand. He watched as Sherlock walked up to the dresser and grabbed an expertly carved stick that had to be Sherlock's old wand. For a moment sparks shot out of the tip and Sherlock found himself grinning uncontrollably, filled with power he had long since deserted.

"I left it behind when I left." He explained.

John nodded. There was something oddly fitting, yet at the same time completely foreign about the idea of Sherlock as a wizard, wielding that wand, that power. For a moment longer, Sherlock stood there, as Albus, holding that wand, but no, that wasn't the life he had chosen, he was a muggle, a "normal" person, not plagued by the expectations of the magical world, not ruled by their laws. He hastily, yet almost reluctantly put down the wand, and let it roll back to where it had been for the last ten years, collecting dust on the dresser. For a moment they were frozen, silent, John sitting and Sherlock standing, it was an awkward silence, like they rarely had any more.

After a minute John found himself desperately searching to break it, finally he landed on something "We should probably exchange presents before we go downstairs." he smiled awkwardly.

"Good idea." Sherlock replied.

The next few minutes were spent searching through overnight bags and grabbing presents. Once they had each found their gifts, they sat on the bed, facing one another, and exchanged them. They unwrapped the gifts simultaneously. John received a journal for his writing while Sherlock had received an expansive star chart. They found themselves laughing uncontrollably.

Eventually they did both quiet down. They hugged, and then reluctantly set about getting dressed to go downstairs. The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Further presents were exchanged and they were ready to go home before Christmas brunch had even begun. It did come to end and soon enough it was time to head home, bags considerably fuller than they had been when they left.

Good-byes were exchanged. Sherlock threw some green powder into the fire place and spoke clearly, saying "221B Baker Street." He stepped into the flames and spun out of sight. John reluctantly followed. On the other side John found himself falling out of the fire on to their carpet. Sherlock caught him before he hit the ground, and they spent a few moments just holding each other, glad to be back home where they were safe. It was a few moments before they realized what could follow and set about that at due speed.


	4. The Murder by Diagon Alley

Author's note: I own neither Harry Potter nor Sherlock nor The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Features mild slash.

**Chapter 4: The Murder by Diagon Alley**

After the chaos that had been Christmas, Sherlock and John agreed to have New Years just the two of them. They spent the night watching the fireworks from the roof of some building they probably weren't supposed to be at, let alone on. John was careful to keep Sherlock as far from the edge as he could. The sunrise found them sleeping, leaning against each other. They did awake before it was too late, and they made their way home, walking through the snow, talking avidly. The rest of the day was spent relaxing.

Another case didn't show up for almost another week. By that time, Sherlock was leaning on bored out of his mind, and John had half a mind to call Lestrade, who was on vacation and not to be disturbed, or maybe even Mycroft, if that failed, like it probably would. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on whose point of view you were looking at it from, late one morning, a knock at the door interrupted the bored detective's ranting. Sherlock ignored it, but John leaped from where he was sitting and walked to the door, desperately hoping it was a case. John opened the door to see none other than Sherlock's father, dressed in normal clothes, followed closely by an irritated Mycroft.

"Mycroft. Mr. Potter." John exclaimed, still not sure what to call his flatmate/partner's father.

"Harry." the man said.

"What are you doing here?" John continued "Come in. Do either of you want tea?"

"Thanks." Harry replied and stepped inside to greet his younger son.

"No, thank you." Mycroft followed his father inside.

John hurried to prepare tea, and found everyone, Sherlock included, sitting in the living room, in silence. With the way everyone was looking at him expectantly, it seemed they had been waiting for him.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." John handed Harry a cup of tea, gave Sherlock a mug of coffee, and sat down with his own tea in hand. He would have asked Mycroft if he was sure he didn't want anything, but, as John had discovered, there was no point.

"It's fine." Sherlock said shortly, before anyone else could answer instead, when John was seated he continued "So, what's the case? It better be something good."

Mycroft scoffed at his brother's impatience, but Harry ignored his sons' bickering and focused on Sherlock "I'm here to ask you for help. There's a man, dead on the edge of the Diagon Alley area, he was shot, with a gun. No one knows who he is, there's no evidence we can use. James said you could find them if anyone could."

"Not happening" he replied shortly.

Harry looked his younger son in the eyes and said "Albus, if there's a reason you can't solve this case, a real reason you don't want to, then feel free to tell me. But if this is about your problems with the wizarding world or some petty dispute with James, then you have no excuse. The wizarding world needs you, one man is dead and others may follow. I know your mom and I didn't raise you to not act if something is a mere inconvenience."

To John's surprise Sherlock didn't retort, instead he stared at the ground before mumbling "I'll take the case."

"Good, we have work to do." Harry stood, the three younger men followed suit "There's a ministry car waiting out front."

Sherlock didn't insist on following in a cab, instead they all filed out to the car without another word from the detective. Once they reached the sleek black car, Mycroft excused himself; he had work to do and was confident that John could manage his brother well enough on his own. John had to stop himself from laughing at Sherlock's indignant expression. Harry did chuckle, before inviting Sherlock and John into the car. They all piled in the back, and though, from the outside, it looked like it was going to be a tight fit, they could all sit rather comfortably. Sherlock was already busy thinking about the case and didn't want to be interrupted, so John wound up spending the journey in silence.

John stopped recognizing the roads they were traveling on after a few minutes and after what felt like too little time driving what had to be much too fast, the car pulled to a stop on the edge of what looked like a shopping district. That is, if shops sold owls John was sure were endangered and magic wands. They all got out; Harry thanked the driver and asked him to wait with the car. Where they had parked was just beside a glowing line that cut across the road and concealed everything beyond it in a golden mist. John had a feeling he had something important to attend to, probably on the other side of town. He was about to say something when Harry tapped the ground with a stick that had to be his wand. The line disappeared and the feeling vanished with it.

The crime scene wasn't swarming with police like most of the ones he and Sherlock visited; instead all that the mist had been concealing was the body of a robed middle aged man, presumably in good health. A bullet wound in the head was the obvious cause of death. The consulting detective approached the body. John followed and soon the he was listening to a constant stream of deductions.

"Unmarried, no, widower." Sherlock pulled a ring, so clean it as good as glowed, from a poorly concealed pocket in the man's robe "Back to dating, but only recently." he pointed out the tan lines that could only be from the ring that had been in his pocket "Had a date last night in fact," he pulled out an address from the same spot "killed on his way home. Other than that, I can't get anything else, someone's removed most identification means. There's ink on his hands, but every wizard has that from using a quill. I'd say more likely than not, some governmental job. John, what do you see?"

John examined the body for a few moments before coming to an easily reached conclusion "In good health, a bit over weight, but nothing that would cause serious problems at this point. Death from brain damage caused by the bullet wound, he was shot point blank, no signs of a struggle, the person who killed him probably knew him, or, more accurately, he knew them."

"Excellent John, excellent!" the detective rubbed his hands together eagerly "I can't say our assailant left much behind, so to the date it is."

Sherlock quickly pulled out his phone to take a picture of the man before standing up and turning to John, "Come on, we need to catch a cab."

"Albus, there's a ministry car right here." his father interrupted.

"And I prefer to take cabs." Sherlock retorted, without even looking back.

Harry shook his head and ran after his son and company. Fortunately John had stopped him, and they were arguing. Harry decided to wait a distance away as they argued it out. Sherlock suddenly spun around to face his father, and put the paper, containing an address in front of his face, all in one fluid motion.

"We need to get here." he said.

"Got it." Harry replied, with efficiency that came with being on the force.

He led them to the car and they piled in yet again. Sherlock was in one of his trances, putting the case together like only he could. John knew well not to say anything, but this time Harry couldn't help but talk.

"That was amazing, Albus, James said you were good, but I must say, I didn't know you were that good. If you wanted a place on the auror force, we were thinking of making a non-magical crimes department." Harry said.

Sherlock merely grunted in reply and returned to focusing on the case at hand.

"He doesn't like to be interrupted while he's working on a case." John explained in hushed tones, with a shrug "I can't even talk to him if he's really focusing." He smiled.

"Ah." Harry whispered in reply.

"I can still hear both of you." Sherlock interrupted their hushed conversation, that wasn't hushed enough, as far as he was concerned.

"Sorry." John whispered back, teasing, and fell silent.

"Thank you." Sherlock replied to the silence, and returned his thoughts.

No one talked for the remainder of the ride, not that it lasted that much longer. They pulled up in front of a normal-seeming residence. Then again, 221B Baker street looked fairly normal from the outside, too. After a moment of confusion Sherlock led the way to the door, his father close behind, while John made up the rear. He knocked twice and they waited.

"Be ready." he instructed.

John understood and readied his still concealed gun, just in case. After a few minutes of tense preparation and waiting, they heard the sound of a key in the lock and soon saw the door being opened by a middle aged woman. John quickly returned his gun to it's holster.

"Hello?" she more asked than said.

For a moment John watched as Sherlock scanned her and came to his conclusions, and then the detective spoke, showing a stolen ID as he introduced himself "I'm Detective-Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard. I was wondering if you recognized this man." he held up his cellphone, with the picture of the dead man showing.

"N-no." she stuttered, John wasn't quite sure if she was just shocked by the contents of the picture, or was a bit nervous because she was lying to Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock gave a false smile that chilled John to the bone, and it wasn't even directly aimed at him – he would have to tell Sherlock it was "not good" – and said "It would be wise if you told the truth, Ms. Lianne Parsons, is it? I know for a fact that you saw this man just this past evening, and now that you have a reason to conceal that you know him. You haven't been dating for very long, but you like him a lot more than you'd like to admit, that or you have a husband. I happen to be leaning heavily on the former. What I'd like to know, is who is he?"

She ignored Sherlock's entire statement and instead, after a pause, managed to get out "H-he's dead, Alfred is dead. No, no, no. What happened to him? They dressed him up in some odd bath-robes and killed him like some sort of display..." she was crying, not yet sobbing, but close, very close.

Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to do, he didn't deal too well with crying people, he usually just ignored them, pressed on, used the emotion to his advantage, but that was wrong and he knew it was wrong, so he wasn't sure what to do. But there was John, there was always John who knew exactly what to do when someone was upset. He glanced desperately at his friend, partner, whatever they were, exactly.

John was already focused on the woman "Ma'am," he put a hand gently on her shoulder "May we come inside?" she nodded and John continued, leading her into her own house as he talked "Come on, have a seat."

He sat her on the couch and glanced around for some water, there wasn't any, but Sherlock and Harry had followed them inside, so he turned to the detective "Could you find her some water?" it was more of an order than a request, and Sherlock took it as such, containing the urge to salute before walking into the kitchen.

John turned back to the woman as soon as he had issued the order/request.

"W-What happened to him?" Lianne, as Sherlock had called her, asked between sobs.

"He was murdered, and we're trying to find out who did it, so we can bring them to justice. To find out who killed him, we need to know who he was, we need to know who would have wanted to kill him."

It was then that Sherlock returned from the kitchen with a glass of water in his hands. John thanked him and handed the woman the glass. She drank hastily, in huge gulps and soon finished the glass. Sherlock rushed to get another and returned much faster than the first time. Lianne drank the second glass too, and had gotten half-way through a third by the time she was ready to talk.

She put down the half-full glass and swallowed before speaking "Th-that's Alfred K-Kirkland, we've only been dating for a l-little while, but." the words came out in a rush before suddenly stopping. It was a moment before she could finish the sentence in barely a whisper "But I loved him." She broke down sobbing.

Several minutes of consoling and three glasses of water later, she was finally ready to talk again. John had noticed Sherlock getting impatient on the edge of his vision, but he had kept most of his attention on the crying woman, and thankfully the detective had managed to reign in his impatience.

Once he was fairly confident she was ready to answer, John asked her "Could you tell us why you were so reluctant to say you knew him?"

She hesitated before replying "I-I just had a bad feeling about it, thought you might suspect me. It's kind of silly, huh?" she let out a spasm of almost hysterical laughter. "You don't, do you?"

John shook his head and smiled reassuringly "No, we don't suspect you."

Lianne found her self overwhelmed by tears, wracking sobs shook her body. "I just can't believe Alfred's d-dead." she explained as soon as her voice had somewhat returned.

John put a hand on her shoulder protectively "Only a few more questions." he turned to Sherlock with a slight ironic smile "D.I. Lestrade?"

John sat on the couch next to Lianne, letting Sherlock move to the position in front of her. Awkwardly, the tall man crouched down as John had been doing, so his face was level with hers.

"What was your husband's job?" he asked, though a glance from John told him his voice had been a bit too harsh, oh well, there was only so much he could do.

"He never told me." Lianne replied simply, she only really registered the question after she had answered.

This time Sherlock gave her a moment to recuperate before asking the next question in what he hoped was a gentler voice "Did he ever tell you anything about his job?"

She took a moment to reply "A-Alfred said it was something in the government, s-something he couldn't tell me about."

Sherlock nodded "Do you know where he lived?"

"N-no, he said it was a dump," she smiled briefly at the thought before tears threatened to overcome her once again, eventually she did continue, saying "W-we always go- w-went out or came here."

"Did he ever mention any family of his?"

"N-no."

"Did he ever say anything that _hinted_ he might know why someone would want to kill him, or that he could have known his assailant?"

"H-he seemed on edge last night, but he wouldn't tell me why, all I could get out of him was that it was something about his work."

"Thank you, that'll be all." Sherlock stood and left.

John and Harry followed suit. Sherlock texted all the way out, and soon they found themselves back in the car. This time Sherlock had told the driver an address that neither John nor Harry could hear, so as soon as they got in, they were off. After Sherlock's objection to conversation on the way there, they all sat in silence as the car sped through the city. Finally, they stopped in front of a large rather run-down looking house. A sign out front labeled it as "The Burrow". Sherlock was first to get out of the car. Harry followed rather confused, and Sherlock helped John out last of all.

"Albus, what are we doing here?" Harry asked his son, incredulous.

"I have a theory I'd like to confirm." and with that he walked up to the door and knocked.

A few moments later Hermione answered the door "Yes?- Albus, nice to see you, Harry, John. All of you, come in." she hugged Harry and Albus in turn and shook John's hand, "Molly and Arthur are watching Samantha."

"Rose's daughter." Harry explained.

"Actually, it's you we need to talk to." Sherlock said to Hermione.

Hermione nodded and led them all into the living room, she was about to offer some form of refreshments when Sherlock got down business "We're investigating a case." he pulled out his phone and showed her the picture "Do you recognize this man, possibly from the Department of Mysteries, he was a new Unspeakable at the time you left?"

Hermione looked thoroughly taken aback "Yes, I did know him. He's Alfred Kirkland, though how you found out is beyond me."

Sherlock ignored the question poorly disguised as a statement, and focused on his next question "What can you tell us about him? Other than that he was a widower, had recently returned to dating, had a muggle girlfriend of about a week or two, who his very attached to him, and was rather unfortunate." he grimaced at the last bit.

"Albus." Harry threatened, "Give your aunt some time to breath."

"It's fine." Hermione replied with a smile, she thought for a moment "I can't say I know much about him off the top of my head, but I might have some records..."

"Good." Sherlock replied.

She headed off to retrieve them and John thanked her on her way out.

"No problem." she waved it off "Take a seat while you're waiting, make yourselves comfortable."

They followed Hermione's advice and took seats around in the living room, while she stepped outside and disappeared.

"How did you figure out he was an Unspeakable?" Harry asked.

"And you didn't?" Sherlock shrugged, "It was obvious, really."

"You know, not all of us can be as brilliant as you are." John retorted.

"I know, I know." he replied with mock arrogance.

"So, how do you plan on solving the case?" Harry persisted, "We should at least work out a game plan."

"I already have a plan." Sherlock said.

"Which is...?"

"For me to know, and you to find out."

"Albus, I think it's important for me to know. This is my jurisdiction."

"It was you who insisted I work on this case in the first place. I don't want to be here, but I am, so we play by my rules."

John put a comforting hand on his partner's arm, but the detective pulled away, not in public, not here, of course.

The argument was interrupted by Hermione who returned, a roll of parchment-like paper in hand. Sherlock took it from her and spent the next few minutes scanning it, probably committing the contents to memory, and rolled it back up. All the same, he pulled out his phone, typed up the most important parts, and saved it.

Then he turned to Hermione and asked "Mind if I take a picture?"

"Not at all." was her reply and the detective set about doing just that.

Once he finished, Sherlock stood and John followed suit, ready to jump into action whenever he may be needed. Sherlock led the way out the door. Harry bid Hermione farewell and had to jog a bit to catch up.

Once they were in the car, he turned to Sherlock and asked "How did you know Hermione would be there?"

"Mycroft." Sherlock replied and turned to the driver to tell him another address, before following the others back in.

"Where are we going now?" Harry asked.

Sherlock ignored the question and instead exclaimed "Quiet! I'm _trying_ to think!"

"Sorry..." Harry replied hesitantly.

"Don't worry, he gets like that sometimes." John explained, glaring at Sherlock as he talked. In retrospect it was kind of odd, having to explain some behavior of Sherlock's to his own father...

Harry nodded and they fell silent yet again. Soon enough they drove up to an apartment building and the driver stopped in the parking lot. They all got out. Sherlock led the way into the building. Thankfully some people were exiting, so he didn't have to con his way in. They took the elevator up to the 6th floor and approached one of the rooms. There he took out a paper clip, unfolded it, and proceeded to pick the lock. John looked on, amused, while Harry's face betrayed some confusion.

"Where did he learn that?" he whispered to John "His mom and I sure didn't teach him."

John simply shrugged, and followed Sherlock into the apartment. Harry shut the door behind them and began to walk into the room as well. It was messy, but at the same time, it looked like there was some form of organizational scheme that you just had to know to understand.

"Don't touch anything." Sherlock instructed "On second thought, don't move."

They both complied, and Sherlock spent the next several minutes examining every corner of the room. He took a few pictures, but all in all came out empty handed. They returned to the car, Sherlock gave the driver another address and they were off again. The next place was a small house in the suburbs. At the door, an older woman greeted them.

"You are Mrs. Sylvia Kirkland?" Sherlock asked in polite tones that John found to be obviously forced.

"Why yes-" she replied.

"I'm with the aurors, this is Harry Potter, head of the auror force." he pointed to his father "Your son, Alfred, was murdered, I was wondering if you could tell us a bit about him so we could find out why someone would want to kill him."

The woman probably hadn't heard a word Sherlock had said beyond "murdered". John sighed, why did Sherlock have to keep doing that? He would have to have a talk with the detective once they were home.

"Ma'am, do you mind if we come in?" Harry asked, an arm on her shoulder.

She nodded and he led her in and sat her on one of the chairs in the living room. A feeling of deja-vous hit him, but John just shook it off, and added that to the list of reasons to tell Sherlock later. Water was fetched and comforting words were said, until finally the woman was ready to speak. This time John stood aside while Harry soothed the woman. He was about to begin questioning her when Sherlock interrupted.

"Could you tell me about Alfred, about his lifestyle, about his job, his friends, anything about him you think would be necessary to get a good idea of him." Sherlock was about to let her answer when he tacked on "And do tell the truth, sugar-coating anything won't do anyone any good."

John sighed and cautioned "Sherlock."

The detective ignored it and focused on the woman. John really did need to talk to him about all of this, once they got home of course.

"I-It's fine." The old woman choked out "I-I want to do all I can to help."

She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief – Who, other than Mycroft Holmes, still had those? - and took a few sips of water before she was ready to continue.

"Take your time." John insisted, that earned him a dirty look from Sherlock.

"I-I haven't seen him in some time," she began, interrupting Sherlock and John's little silent argument "H-he's- was always so busy at work, but he send- he sent owls often." she took another sip of water before she continued "He is- was bright, but ha- had a lot of bad luck. He was almost clumsy in that respect." she found herself laughing, albeit nervously.

She paused for a moment, composed her features, dabbed her eyes, took a few sips of water, and began again "His wife, Elanor, she died suddenly a few years ago, he was so distraught, he threw himself into his work, but recently, recently I thought he was recovering, he even started dating again... Lianne, a nice girl, he liked her, though he wasn't too sure- wasn't to sure after Elanor. H-His life was finally looking up..."

John found himself looking at Sherlock as this narrative unfolded. When Sherlock "died" he had thrown himself into the work at hand, it had been a distraction, nothing more nothing less. That was what this dead man had gone through, John was sure. But what if Sherlock hadn't returned? Would he really have ever moved on? What if Sherlock died now, their job wasn't exactly risk-free, what would he do then? John had a sudden urge to hold on to the detective and never let him go, but that wouldn't do, not in a stranger's house, not in the wizarding world in front of Sherlock's father. John forced himself to focus on the matter at hand, this woman, who had just lost her son.

"... I don't know what his job was, he avoids- avoided the question, or says- said he can't- couldn't tell." he heard the woman saying.

"But did he ever talk about his job?" Sherlock was getting irritated.

"No, he said he couldn't."

"Never even complained about his boss, nothing?"

The woman shook her head.

Sherlock sighed, said "Let's go." and stood.

"Thank you for your time, and we're sorry about your loss." John told her, and followed his partner out the door.

"If you remember anything or find anything new, feel free to send an owl." Harry said, "I'm sorry about your loss." he stood and left as well.

It was dark by the time they left the woman's house. John was hungry, and he assumed Harry was too. As Sherlock was in the middle of a case, John assumed food hadn't even crossed his mind, but he was soon proven wrong.

They were walking back to the car when Sherlock suddenly came out of his reverie and turned to John "Are you hungry?"

John looked at him, his eyes wide with mild surprise, but he replied quickly enough "Yes."

"We can all go back to Grimauld Place for dinner. I'm sure your mom and sister would be thrilled to see you. We can call James and invite him as well." Harry recommended.

Sherlock and John declined avidly, but Harry insisted, saying "It'll be a good chance to go over the case."

"As long as Mycroft doesn't come..." Sherlock gave in, there was no way he could win while still avoiding suspicion.

John just watched in surprise, and mild disappointment; there went their evening. All the same, John decided he might as well make the best of the good food, and followed the others into the car. They arrived at Grimauld Place, and this time John could see number 12 in its place between numbers 11 and 13. This time Harry led the way into his house. He greeted Ginny with a kiss – John felt a pang of jealousy that he couldn't just kiss Sherlock – and they all, Sherlock included, seated themselves around the dining room table. Lily joined them after a few minutes, with a garbled apology.

The house-elf, Kreature, John was fairly sure it's name was, served them a delicious dinner of leftovers from the holidays. The food had kept perfectly and tasted just like it had the first time he had it. John was about to ask how, when he remembered the whole wizard thing. He was turned towards Sherlock all the same, and saw, not to his surprise, that the detective wasn't eating. John was about to say something about it when Harry beat him to the punch.

"Albus, is something wrong?" he asked.

"He doesn't eat on cases." John explained.

"Digestion slows down thought." Sherlock added on.

Harry nodded and the meal continued. There was conversation, but it was all small talk, the only mentions of the case were little things, generalizations and pointless details. Sherlock had half a mind to drag John off and monologue to him about the case, but he contented himself with sorting everything out in his head. His father occasionally tried to drag him into the conversation, but Sherlock ignored it. Finally, they moved into the living room and the the conversation did really turn to the case, but Sherlock only half-listened, and didn't bother to contribute.

Even John had missed most of the important details, though he had a good point about the wound, how if he had to know the person... and Sherlock didn't hear the rest of the comment, as he immersed himself in yet another train of thought. They were in the middle of dessert, after about an hour of stupid conversation, when they saw a glowing silver fox, of some sort, fly through the door and stop in the middle of the floor, facing at Harry.


	5. Rose Weasley Malfoy

Author's note: I own neither Harry Potter nor Sherlock nor The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Features mild slash.

**Chapter 5: Rose Weasley Malfoy**

For a moment they all froze. Harry finished what he was saying. John opened his mouth to ask a what was going on, but he didn't manage to get out the question when suddenly, the fox opened its mouth, and a frantic male voice, John was sure he had heard before somewhere, came out.

"Rose is hurt." was all it said before it ran off.

Again, all was still and silent. Slowly, as if in a daze, everyone began to move. Everyone began to clear the table, by hand, and walked all the dishes to the sink to be cleaned. A glowing otter arrived, bearing a similar message. Once the table was cleared, they all gathered by the fireplace.

Harry cleared his throat before saying "I'll go to St. Mungo's and send a patronus as soon as I find anything out."

"I'm coming too. Let's go John." Sherlock said.

"No, you're staying here with your mother and sister." With that, Harry threw some green powder into the fire, announced "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries." and stepped into the green flames.

He spun down into the fire until he was entirely out of sight. The rest of the family stared after him, John, meanwhile, was focused on Sherlock. In all outwards appearances, he seemed fine, but John knew Sherlock well enough not to trust outward appearances, especially when it came to emotions. John watched as his partner turned away from the flames and went to sit back down. Sherlock pressed his fingertips together and closed his eyes, as if deep in thought.

John walked over and sat next to him "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine." Sherlock snapped, his eyes flying open.

John put a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder. The detective didn't bother to remove it. Soon enough, Ginny and Lily joined them, bearing enough tea for everyone, between the two of them. John thanked them, but Sherlock just grunted. Lily tried to start a conversation, but it didn't work. They fell into a heavy silence. John began to gently massage circles into Sherlock's back. Fifteen minutes passed. That turned into half an hour, and half an hour turned into 45 minutes.

A feeling of exhaustion lay heavily over the room, though none would have been able to sleep, even if they had wanted to. Sherlock probably wasn't actually tired, but then again, he often went days without sleep while he pursued a case, not like it was healthy. It didn't mean he was fine, his whole composure was deflated. John was probably the only one who was really fine, he was used to fighting exhaustion, he was also used to death and injury, not like that was a good thing, and didn't know the victim. Ginny seemed relatively fine, she was distressed, but exhaustion didn't seem to be wearing on her too much. Lily, on the other hand, was freaking out. She went from pacing to wringing her hands, to attempting to fall asleep, John felt bad for her, but Sherlock was his priority, as always.

Finally, after an hour of waiting, a glowing silver stag galloped through the door into the living room, where it faced Ginny. The room gained a tense, alert feel to it as they all waited for the stag to talk, just as the fox had. It took a moment, but it did open its mouth.

"She's alive." Harry's voice echoed around the room.

The stag proceeded to close its mouth and run from the room the way it had come. Slowly, as if in a trance, they all stood one more. Again they cleared the table and gathered by the fireplace. This time they each stepped in the fire in turn and spun away. Sherlock and John managed to find themselves alone in Number 12 Grimauld Place. They gently kissed. John promised they would talk later, and this time Sherlock did not protest. Reluctantly they broke apart and Sherlock helped John use the floo powder. Sherlock took in a deep breath, and followed.

The next thing they knew, they fell out of a different fireplace and found themselves in the reception area of a hospital. It was a hospital just like any other, hold the fact that everyone was in robes. John automatically hated it. He hated hospitals in general. Even though he was a doctor, he belonged on the battle field with all its blood and danger, not in those whitewashed, sanitized halls.

Lily offered a hand, and he took it, letting her help him up. It was just in time too, as Sherlock came stumbling out of the fire. John offered a hand to him, just as Lily had done for him, but the detective ignored it, in favor of standing on his own. John sighed and hurried to catch up with the others. Sherlock trailed behind him.

They were all standing around the reception desk. Ginny was doing most of the talking, while the receptionist gave one word answers. John heard it all, but didn't really listen. Eventually, Ginny must have gotten the information she was looking for, because she led them off towards the elevator. It shortly arrived and they headed up to the First Floor: Creature-Induced Injuries. John felt out of place, as he followed the others through the winding halls, filled with shouting doctors. Occasionally he got a glimpse of patients sleeping or receiving visitors in their wards. It reminded him of when he had gotten shot in Afghanistan. A convulsive shiver ran down his spine and he sped up. Soon enough they did arrive at the right ward. John prepared to wait outside as the others walked in, when Sherlock stopped and stood next to him.

"Shouldn't you go in?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged in a non-reply. John just stood there and waited until Sherlock decided it was time to give a real answer.

Finally, the detective caved, "It's not my place." he explained.

"Since when did you care if it was your place?" John countered, "You don't when questioning victims or those related to them."

"But that is my place."

"Well so is this, it's your family."

"Not any more."

John was about to reply when Harry left the ward and approached them, "Albus, come on, the rest of the family is there."

Sherlock's posture straightened, so he towered over his father, and looked him in the eye, "I'm not going in."

Harry refused to be threatened, but there was exasperation in his voice when he finally replied, "If for nothing else, come in to question her for the case."

"The case?" Sherlock asked, his eyes suddenly alight.

Harry nodded, "Apparently she was shot. It's probably connected."

"I'll have to have a look then." Sherlock rubbed his hands together eagerly and strode into the room.

John sighed and was about to follow when Harry interrupted, "Is he always like this?"

"In what way?" John stopped and turned to face his partner's father.

"It seems all he cares about is the case, and not even that. You're the closest thing to family he has, now, I suppose. I don't mean to pry, but if you were hurt, would he do this?" Harry gestured in an attempted explanation, before he realized the implications of what he had said.

He was about to apologize, but John interrupted, "That's not a fair question. On the day I met Sherlock, I killed a man to save his life, not more than a year after we met, he 'died' for a year to save mine. What you're asking is something completely different."

"What am I asking then?" Harry asked, reluctantly playing along.

John shrugged, "I suppose you want to know what his problem with the family is and I don't think he has one. Emotions aren't his forte, to say the least," John smiled, "And I suppose he just doesn't like the wizarding world."

"I suppose..." Harry replied, rolling over what John had just told him in his head.

"Well I have to go make sure he's not getting himself into any trouble." John smiled and left for the ward.

"It was nice talking to you." Harry called after him.

"You too." John replied.

He found himself in a room room full of what felt like all the people he had met at Christmas, and possibly even more. Right at the bedside was Scorpius, sitting next to his sleeping wife. He was wearing pale green robes that looked like those of the doctors that had been running around, John supposed he had noticed due to force of habit. No one really noticed him, so he was free to scan the room searching for Sherlock, uninterrupted. He found his partner bent over his cousin examining the wounds, and asking Scorpius the occasional question.

John made his way over to Sherlock. He put a hand on the detective's shoulder to announce is arrival.

Sherlock spun around to face him and exclaimed "Finally, you took long enough. I need you to examine the wound, there's not anything a healer can tell us."

John nodded and set about inspecting the bullet wound. It seemed to have healed a lot more than in should have in such short time, but that was likely a wizard thing. She had probably been hit from a distance above, with a 22 caliber pistol, not the type of weapon he would have used for the job, that's for sure. But the way the hole looked, it covered a lot more distance than it should have, almost as if she had been spinning as she had been hit. He was about to tell Sherlock that when Scorpius began to speak, presumably at the invitation of another question from Sherlock.

"S-she arrived home covered in blood. S-she said something about having been hit with something while she was apparating home." Scorpius explained.

Sherlock nodded "I assume she's been staying late at work a lot lately?"

"Y-yes." Scorpius replied.

"She's an Unspeakable, correct?" Sherlock asked.

"Y-yes." Scorpius replied again.

"I've seen all I need to." Sherlock remarked and left the room.

John followed close at his heels. Harry stopped them just as they were leaving.

"Albus, where are you going?" he asked.

"John and I have work to do." Sherlock replied without answering the question and without stopping.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a break for the night?"

Sherlock ignored that question entirely.

"Do you want me to come?"

"No."

"I'll stay here, then. You can take the car from home, be sure to call if you need me." Harry shouted after them, and returned to the ward.

John followed Sherlock to the lift. Once they were downstairs, they made their way to the fireplace and flooed back to Grimauld Place. From there they walked outside, into the cold, dark night, and found the car, with driver still waiting for them. They piled in and Sherlock instructed the driver to take them to the main exit of the Ministry of Magic. Then they set off through the night. The silence was interrupted by Sherlock's phone buzzing. He ignored it. Finally, the car came to a stop in the middle of a busy urban street. When Sherlock asked, the driver motioned to an old, disused phone booth. Sherlock got out, opened the door for John, and led the way. A small pool of blood lay by the door of the phone booth. Sherlock spent a few minutes examining everything from the pavement to the surrounding buildings.

Then he turned to John "What do you think?"

"She was shot from one of those buildings; we'd have to go to the top to check." John grimaced.

Sherlock looked him in the eyes "Don't worry, I'll be careful."

John managed a slight smile "You better."

"Let's go." Sherlock led the way across the street, to one of the surrounding office buildings.

They fell silent as they walked around to a side entrance. Sherlock knocked at the door, and they waited until a janitor walked up.

"What do you want?" the woman, dressed in blue custodial gear, asked.

"Sorry for bothering you, I think I left my flash drive when I came in for a meeting earlier, silly me." Sherlock said, in a voice that was so not him, it made John cringe.

The woman sighed "Okay, come in, but you'll have to make it quick."

They quickly walked in and she left with a frown, shaking her head about stupid people. Sherlock regained his usual posture and murmured some snide remark under his breath. John could barely conceal a smile. As soon as she was out of sight, they headed off for the roof.

There was an old service ladder on the top floor leading directly to it. John insisted he go first, and helped Sherlock up. Once they were both up there, he tightened his grip on Sherlock's hand, just in case. The detective glanced at him, just to make sure he was okay, definitely not because he just enjoyed looking at his friend, definitely, and proceeded to scan the area. He couldn't see anything, but maybe John would be able to tell if this was the right angle...

"John, what do you think?" He asked.

Reluctantly, John dropped the detective's hand, walked over to the edge, and pulled out his pistol. Then he tried aiming standing up, crouching, bending over, laying down, any position he could think of. Finally he returned to Sherlock.

"Too high up, not the right angle." he explained.

Sherlock nodded and scanned the surrounding buildings. His eyes landed on the next one over. John followed his gaze and gave a half smile.

"That looks about right." he said.

"Let's go." Sherlock led the way back to the stairs.

He descended first, and John followed. Sherlock then led the way back downstairs and out the front doors. They walked up to the next building. Again, they took a side entrance. Sherlock played the forgetful young business man who had lost his flash drive. Without too much trouble, someone let them in and they headed straight for the elevators. Soon enough, Sherlock and John found themselves on yet another roof. Again, John tested all the possible angles, but this time he was fairly confident they were in the right spot. From a crouch, he could easily have been able to make just that wound.

He returned to Sherlock and told him as much. The detective spent the next fifteen minutes examining the roof. He never strayed too close to the edge, but he walked around it several times, until he had found everything he could have possibly needed. Finally, he turned back to John and led the way down the stairs.

Sherlock helped John down, and began to explain, "Now what we need to do is look around and ask if anyone else saw someone come in earlier this evening, possibly go up to the roof, possibly not. Got it?"

John nodded in assent. They all split up, and spent the next half an hour asking around. John found two people who had seen someone, but one had seen a small bookish man who they were pretty sure worked there, and one saw an engineer who had been called in to do some repair work. They didn't know the identities of either of them. As such, John returned to the car empty handed. When he arrived, Sherlock was waiting in the back, deep in thought. John decided against disturbing him. For fifteen more minutes John waited before he finally decided it was time to interrupt.

"I believe we should be heading home for the evening." John said.

Sherlock looked up and frowned, but nodded his reluctant agreement.

"221B Baker street." Sherlock ordered, and they were off.

The car rolled to a stop. John got out of the car first, and helped Sherlock out. They walked inside. Sherlock collapsed on the couch. John headed into the kitchen to prepare some tea. He returned, handed Sherlock a cup of tea, and sat down next to him, his own tea in hand.

For a few minutes they sat in silence. John finished his tea, while Sherlock watched, or more accurately stared. His tea went ignored and soon got cold. Finally, John turned towards his partner. At first glance Sherlock looked okay, tired, he was staring like he only did when he was tired, but okay. But there was something, something wrong, about it. Maybe it had to do with his eyes, his cold, no empty expression. Yeah, that was probably it. John wasn't surprised exactly. Sherlock was dealing with more emotion, more negative emotion, than he had needed to in a while, and it was taking it's toll. It also couldn't have helped that there was nothing John could have done about it when Sherlock found out.

"Are you okay?" John asked.

No reply.

"Sherlock, come on. I can help, I assure you, I can help." he looked him in the eyes.

"I'm fine!" Sherlock insisted, having finally found his voice, it sounded rather lame to John.

John sighed, he knew it wasn't going to be easy, but one could hope. Gently, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, letting the detective almost melt into him. For a moment, Sherlock remained rigid, but he trusted John, and it had already been so long a day. They stayed like that for the remainder of the night. Neither talked nor moved nor slept, but by the time morning came, they both felt better all the same.


	6. The Department of Mysteries

Author's note: I own neither Harry Potter nor Sherlock nor The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Features mild slash.

**Chapter 6: The Department of Mysteries**

As the sun began to stream through the uncovered window, they slowly untangled themselves. They each went to different showers – it was times like those when they were glad it was a two bedroom flat – and set about their usual morning routines. John sat down to eat breakfast, Sherlock joined him, but didn't eat. Ms. Hudson brought up a breakfast and left with cries of "Just this once." and "Not your housekeeper." Sherlock and John just laughed. Not long after Ms. Hudson left the room, a glowing stag galloped into the room.

"Rose is fine. Come to Grimauld Place when ready." it announced, before galloping away.

This time John asked "What is that, exactly?"

"A patronus." Sherlock explained "I could never make one. It's a magical representation of oneself created by an incantation combined with complete focus on one's happiest thought. It also happens to take a lot of magic. They're used to destroy dementors-"

"Dementors?" John interrupted.

"Magical creatures that drain all happiness, and can suck out your soul if they get to close. Not very pleasant, they _used_ to guard Azkaban, but after the great war their numbers dwindled."

"Great war?"

"That war my dad fought in. He, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort once and for all, so now he's a hero." Sherlock said, not without some resentment.

"Ah..."

"Anyways, they can also be used for communication." Sherlock finished explaining, and the conversation went to other channels.

Finally it turned to the case. John tried to get some information out of Sherlock, but he could easily tell it wasn't going to happen. Instead they set about clearing the table and walked to the fireplace.

"I will never get used to this." John remarked.

"Let's hope you never have to." Sherlock replied, and handed John the bag of green powder.

John kissed Sherlock on the lips, threw a pinch of the powder into the fire, and announced "Number 12 Grimauld Place." The fire turned green, and he stepped in, before spinning into the void. He landed on the hearthrug and quickly stood, brushing himself off in the process. Sherlock shortly followed, and he helped up his partner, this time Sherlock took the offered hand. They then walked into the kitchen, where Harry and Lily were eating.

"Albus, John, have a seat." Harry invited them to the table with the explanation "Ginny's already off at work."

They both obliged and took seats next to each other. Harry offered them some food, but both declined.

"We already ate." John explained.

"So, what brings you here?" Harry asked.

"We need to get into the Department of Mysteries." Sherlock said.

There was a moment of hesitation before Harry replied "Albus, you know you can't just walk in to the Department of Mysteries, they do top secret research. I'm not even allowed in there without a specific purpose, and it takes months to get it approved."

"We'll have to find a way in." Sherlock insisted "That's where the solution to this case lies."

"You're sure there's no other option?"

"Yes."

Harry sighed "Okay, I can get you in, both of you. Albus, you'll have to bring your wand, you'll need it. That and your best invisibility potion."

Sherlock nodded in consent and headed up to his old room. John stayed behind. Harry pulled out that cloak he had used to keep guard the previous night and handed it to John.

"You'll need it." Harry explained.

John nodded and hung it on the chair, that partially disappeared. They stayed there, in an awkward silence for a moment before John excused himself.

"I think I'll go see what Sherlock is up to..." he turned and left for the stairs.

Upstairs, he went into Sherlock's old room and found the detective looking through a cabinet full of vials. He had pulled out a few and was looking through the rest. John just stood there, watching Sherlock work. They didn't talk, but the silence was of the comfortable sort. After a few minutes Sherlock finished his work. John helped him carry all the vials he had selected down the stairs. They deposited their burden on the table and Sherlock turned to his father.

"I need chocolate." he instructed, as if he was giving a perfectly normal pre-investigation order.

John was about to question the statement when Harry explained "He needs it to do magic." as he went to get some.

John nodded. Sherlock quickly ate all the chocolate he was handed and John glanced around the room, feeling as if something was missing...

And then it hit him "Where's Lily?"

"She left for work while we were upstairs." Sherlock replied just as Harry was opening his mouth.

"Ah."

The quickly finished preparing. John grabbed the cloak, Harry pulled out his wand and uttered an incantation, turning himself invisible, and Sherlock swallowed a potion that, after a moment caused him to disappear as well.

"Let's go" Harry instructed, and after much falling over each other they made it to the fireplace.

They then each took some floo powder, threw it into the fire, and stepped in, in turn. John had some trouble hanging on the cloak, but he managed to arrive unseen. Sherlock somehow managed to deduce his location, and grabbed his hand. Well first Sherlock grabbed his shoulder, which caused John to jump, but after a comforting whisper from his partner, John calmed and they clasped hands. Invisibility did have its advantages. Sherlock then found Harry, who grabbed his son's hand and led them through the crowd.

The building was filled with people in robes, all running around, intent on their tasks. The lift started out full, but by the time they reached the lower floors, it emptied. By the time they were at the 9th floor, they were alone. From there, they walked to a dead end hallway that ended in a black door. The lock seemed to turn and the door seemed to open on their own, though John was quite sure it was just Harry. Behind that door was a circular room, with a floor so polished it looked like water, lined with about twelve doors – John didn't really bother to count.

Sherlock, whose hand he was still tightly holding, led him into the room. Once they were all in, the door closed on its own and the room began to spin. John held on to Sherlock for dear life, as everything else faded into centripetal force and blurriness. Finally the room settled and they all stopped spinning. To John it still looked like it was spinning, but that was to be expected. He just lay there, on top of Sherlock, as the world settled around them. Somehow, John had managed to hold on to the cloak.

"Are you okay?" he murmered.

"Of course. You?" Sherlock began standing up.

"I'm fine." He used Sherlock's hand, which was still holding his, to get back up.

"You both okay?" Harry called over from the other side of the room.

"Yes." John replied, brushing himself off – which wasn't as hard as one would expect despite the fact that he was still holding Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock didn't reply.

"Albus are you okay?" Harry asked again.

After a moment of Sherlock still not replying John took it upon himself and said "He's fine."

"Good." Harry answered, before saying "Brain Room" to no one John could see.

One of the doors flew open. Harry led them through into a long rectangular chamber, lit by low, dim lights. A large tank, filled with glowing green liquid, covered most of the room. Swimming around inside the tank were odd fish, John suspected might be brains. Sherlock glanced over the room and turned to John.

"Nothing here." He said.

Harry led them back out. The instant they were back in the room with the doors and the door had closed behind them, the room began to spin yet again. Sherlock and John held on to each other as they were forced against the wall. The spinning stopped as fast as it had begun and they all collapsed to the ground. That time, John was the first up, and he helped Sherlock to his feet. Once they were all up and knew they others were okay, Harry led them into the "Hall of Prophesy". Sherlock didn't find anything there either. Nor did he find anything in the "Space Chamber" or the "Time Room". The "Love Chamber" was locked.

Finally, after another time being spun in that room with the doors, Harry reluctantly called out "Death Chamber."

A door opened, and they walked in. John kept a hand on his gun, just in case; the name of the room sounded a bit more than a little suspicious. It was a giant, poorly lit, cavernous chamber, lined with stone benches.

"Lumos." Sherlock and his father drew their wands and spoke simultaneously, shedding two beacons of light, one dim and one bright, on the room.

Between the two of them, they illuminated the entire chamber. In the middle there was a 20 foot circular depression, lined in stone. In the middle of that depression, was an ancient, crumbling stone arch-way, hung with tattered black curtains, swinging ever so slightly, as if moved by a slight wind. The air in the chamber was still, icy and stale. John heard quiet, murmuring voices calling him, calling him towards the veil, pulling him. He began to walk, mesmerized. Sherlock held him back.

"John, where are you going?" The brilliant man sounded, dare he say, worried.

It forced John back to the present, back into himself "I-I'm sorry, I don't know…"

"Are you okay?" Sherlock demanded.

"Yes, I'm fine." John replied, squeezing Sherlock's hand reassuringly.

Sherlock glanced around the room, examining everything in sight with that one glance. He then pulled a vial out of John's bag and pulled out his wand. He tapped the cork and whispered some nonsense word under his breath. The liquid flew out and covered the entire room, revealing crisscrossing, colorful, glowing streaks covering the room.

"Stay here." Sherlock instructed and set off examining the room inch by inch.

John stood there, waiting with increasing nervousness as the minutes passed. A hand on his shoulder made him jump. He grabbed at the person and made for their neck.

"John." It was Sherlock, his voice was chocked, as if his breath was being cut off.

"Sherlock!" John quickly removed his hands from Sherlock's throat "I'm so sorry! Let me see it."

"The potion won't wear off for another hour."

"Will you be okay until then?"

"Of course." Sherlock straightened his suit, though no one could see him "Let's go, then."

He grabbed John's hand, which was still shaking slightly from earlier, and led him out the door. Harry followed. This time, when the room with the doors began to spin, Sherlock was the one to hold John down, though John held on to him for dear life. The spinning ended and they just lay there, in each other's arms, waiting for the dizziness to go away.

"Albus, John." Harry called out.

"Coming." John called out, and helped Sherlock up.

"Exit." Harry announced, and one of the doors opened.

He led the others out. From there they walked back down that hallway to the lift, and went back up to the main floor. From there, they flooed out, back to Number 12 Grimauld Place. There, Harry immediately removed the invisibility spell and John removed the cloak. Sherlock grabbed another vial from the cloak, downed it – it was the most unusual thing watching an invisible person swallow something – and became visible yet again

"Do you have records of the Unspeakable's DNA?" Sherlock asked.

"No, but your aunt, Hermione, might." Harry replied.

"Sherlock, your neck." John interrupted.

"It's fine." Was the reply.

"Just let me check."

Sherlock sighed and John leaned in to examine his neck.

"All clear." John announced and leaned back "I'm so sorry."

He was about to hug the detective, but he remembered Harry's presence, and left it at that.

"It's fine." Sherlock insisted "Now, back to business?"

"Of course, of course." John smiled slightly.

"Let's go. No time to waste!"

Another trip through the fireplace, and they arrived in the living room of a small, modern-style house. Hermione was sitting in the kitchen eating lunch with her husband, Ron – was it?

"Harry, what're you doing here?" Ron exclaimed.

"We're here on business." Harry replied with a slight smile.

Sherlock pushed his way to the front and focused on his aunt "We need DNA samples from all current Unspeakables."

"I'll see what I can find, but that's all classified information you're looking for." Hermione sighed and stood "In the meantime, why don't you all join us for lunch."

They all seated themselves around the table. John and Harry ate ravenously. While Sherlock did get a plate, he hadn't touched it, hold to push it away. When Ron asked, he replied simply "I don't eat on cases." Ron just looked at him with a glance, half confused, half worried. Sherlock received the look disdainfully. John barely managed to stop himself from laughing, which would have been bad, as he was drinking some coffee at the time. Finally, Hermione returned, her hands filled with file folders. Sherlock took them and stood to leave.

"Let's go." He instructed John, he then turned to his father and said "You can stay."

John swallowed quickly, thanked Hermione and Ron, said good-bye to Harry, and followed Sherlock out the door. They headed towards the main road. John wasn't sure how Sherlock knew the area, but he apparently had.

"Did you memorize the map or something?" John teased breathlessly, as he caught up.

Sherlock smiled slightly, though John couldn't see it. He glanced back, checking to see where they were relative to the house. Finally, he stopped and let John catch up.

"And what was that about?" John asked, once he was standing next to Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged, grabbed John's hand, and kept walking at a more leisurely pace. They soon reached the main road and Sherlock managed to hail a taxi in record time.

"He's fine," Sherlock murmured in John's ear "Not a serial killer."

John laughed. The tension between them suddenly disappeared and they fell into a relaxed silence. Sherlock began looking through the files and John read over his shoulder. Occasionally he saw something of particular interest and pointed it out, and Sherlock would occasionally do the same, but mainly, they both just read. The cab came to a stop in front of 221B Baker Street. They both got out on the street side and walked in. Sherlock set up his chemistry equipment and got to work examining samples from the Department of Mysteries. John prepared a cup of tea and sat down beside him, leaving enough space for Sherlock to work.

Suddenly, Sherlock spoke "John, I need you to get a few things."

"Of course. One sec." John put down his tea and got a pencil from the kitchen counter and a sheet of loose paper from under the skull, before returning to Sherlock's side, ready to write "Yes?"

Sherlock proceeded to list a series of nonsense ingredients, John wrote them down all the same.

"And where do I get these?" John asked, staring at the list incredulously.

"Ask dad."

John sighed "Got it. Do I have to go by fireplace?" he finished with an ironic smile.

Sherlock nodded "Be sure to speak clearly. If you end up anywhere other than where you're headed, feel free to call."

"Got it."

John smiled as he got ready to go. He knew just how extraordinary it was that Sherlock expressed that level of concern, and even more unusual that he offered to be _called_, he always preferred to text. As much as John hated to admit it, those six months apart had done them both some good. John threw the green powder into the fireplace and said "Number 12 Grimauld Place" as clearly as he could. The fire turned green. He glanced at Sherlock, who happened to be watching him closely. The detective glanced away when John noticed, all the same, the knowledge heartened him.

"See you soon." John called out.

Sherlock merely grunted in reply.

John smiled all the same and stepped into the fire. He started spinning, faster, faster, faster. He forced his eyes shut and held onto the paper, afraid it would fly out of his hand. Thankfully it didn't. After a few moments, that felt a lot longer than they probably actually were, he fell out onto the carpet of Number 12 Grimauld Place. He stood quickly and found Harry reading a newspaper John didn't recognize.

"John, what are you doing here?" Harry stood and asked.

John held out the list "Sherlock needs all of this."

"Got it. We'll need to go to Diagon Alley." Harry put away the list and turned back to John "Have you ever apparated?"

"Have I ever what?"

"Obviously not. Take my arm."

John complied. Harry turned on the spot and John found himself being pulled into a void. An invisible force squeezed him tighter and tighter until he felt he would explode, but he didn't, and soon enough he found himself in the middle of a sidewalk taking in deep breaths. When he was ready to look around, which was relatively quickly considering, he saw a street filled with shops, the likes of which John had never seen.

They sold broomsticks and wands and quills and cauldrons. Some sold things like books and ice cream, but none of the books looked normal, the ice cream did. They stood in front of "Slug & Jigger's Apothecary" that seemed to sell the oddest assortment of things, from insects to something John suspected were unicorn horns. The people were even more unusual, all dressed in robes and pointed hats. This was one of those times he wondered how in the world he got roped into such absurdities. Then he remembered Sherlock and how unusual that extraordinary man was, and it all seemed normal.

Harry led the way into the apothecary. It was a small stuffy shop, filled with tubs of bad-smelling ingredients. Harry grabbed some of all sorts of things and paid in large gold coins, a few smaller silver ones, and some even smaller bronze ones. They "apparated" back to Baker Street where Sherlock was still examining the samples and reading the relevant documents.

It took a moment, but the detective did look up an acknowledge them, or at least acknowledged John "John, you're back, good."

He took the bag from John's hands and walked back to the table where there was a beaker on a Bunsen burner. He then took out all the ingredients and began preparing a solution of some sort. Harry awkwardly bid them farewell, turned on the spot, and disappeared. John barely had time to say good-bye when Sherlock had him fetching ingredients, both magical and chemical. Eventually John was permitted to stop. He went, prepared some tea, and stood aside, watching Sherlock hard at work.

The concoction on the Bunsen burner was soon removed from the flame, and Sherlock began mixing it with the samples he had collected from the Department of Mysteries. John watched with keen interest, though he wasn't quite sure what was going on – he had taken chemistry as part of Medical School, but magical chemistry was a different matter – it was still amazing to watch Sherlock at work with such delicate precision. Finally Sherlock finished working. His whole body straightened back up, from being bent over his work. He stretched luxuriously.

When he turned back towards John, his eyes were shining with energy renewed. The chase was on. John felt his heart-rate increase with anticipation. For a moment they stood there, their eyes locked. Finally Sherlock looked away and led John, by the arm, to the fireplace. From there, one after the other, they each stepped in, and made their way back to Number 12 Grimauld Place. There Harry was waiting, sitting in the kitchen going over his case notes. He looked up as he heard his son and John entering.

"Albus, John, that was fast." he exclaimed.

John was about to reply when Sherlock cut him off "We need several aurors and an arrest warrant for several Unspeakables."

"Wait a second, Albus. Take a seat, and explain to me exactly what's going on." Harry motioned to a chair "John, you might as well sit down too."

John sat as he was bid, and motioned for Sherlock to do the same. Harry almost expected his grown son to roll his eyes, with the expression he had, but he didn't, and instead the detective took a seat right next to his companion.

"I assume you've found our criminal, or criminals..." Harry began, Sherlock merely nodded, so he continued "But, we need evidence for a warrant."

"The magical residue from the Death Chamber matches with their records." Sherlock divulged reluctantly.

Harry sighed "That doesn't mean they killed anyone."

"If all goes according to plan we should be able to catch them in the act."

"Sherlock." John spoke up suddenly, his tone was threatening, but there was a hint of regularity, or maybe even boredom, to his voice "You don't mean to say that we'll be just letting someone die to prove a point."

Sherlock sighed, and again Harry was surprised his grown-up son wasn't rolling his eyes, "Of course not."

Were they _flirting_? Harry decided to ignore the idea and interrupted the little "domestic" – for lack of a better word – "Albus, what's your big plan?"

"I know who their next target is, Mr. James Smith, also an Unspeakable, they'll probably try and kill him tonight. He lives alone, so they'll probably try and get him there. John and I will go on ahead, you'll have to bring as many aurors as you can muster to take the murder into custody. He'll put up a bit of a fight, but if it's obvious he's cornered he'll give in and tell you whatever you want to know, for a lesser sentence."

"How do you know all this?" Harry was obviously surprised.

"You really don't get it? It's obvious!"

"Sherlock." John interceded.

"They must have hired an assassin, they probably obliviate him after each job, but they have to let him keep his memory for each job, that means he has to have a place to meet up with his employers. If we catch him early enough and get the information out of him, then we can ambush them. We'll have to be careful not to be obliviated ourselves and that they don't know about it. I'll go in as bait."

He glanced at John, who had that pleading expression he always had when Sherlock was about to put himself in "needless danger" as John called it. Sherlock hated doing this to him, but it was the only way, it wasn't like he could trust _anyone_ else to be bait, except John, and he sure didn't want John in the line of fire. It was hypocritical, but he assumed that was love "I can make another potion that protects from being obliviated."

Harry sighed "Where do we meet?"

Sherlock wrote down an address "I'll text you the exact situation." Harry was about to make some form of content, but Sherlock simply turned to John "Your phone?"

John handed Sherlock his phone, and the detective handed it to his father.

Harry thanked him and Sherlock and John set on their way. They hailed a cab and quickly arrived in a residential area not too different from Baker street, though both Sherlock and John noticed the minute differences; one was home and one wasn't, after all. After stepping out of the cab, Sherlock scanned the horizion. There was a moment before he pointed to the top of a nearby building.

Sherlock pulled out his phone, fired off a message and handed it back. They then joined hands and Sherlock led the way into the building. He smooth-talked his way into the building, and they were about to go up onto the roof when John stopped in his tracks.

When Sherlock tried to continue John held his ground "No, we're not doing this again, you're not going up on another roof, not alone, and definitely not with a lunatic with a gun around. I'm going up alone, I'll distract him, and I'll call you up when the aurors arrive."

"John," Sherlock looked his partner in the eye and took in a deep breath "You don't want me to die, you're scared," beat "but I don't want you to die either. I know you won't let me go up and face him alone, but it's both or none."

John kissed Sherlock full on the lips, they stood there for a moment, before they pulled apart ever so slightly "Let's go." John's voice was low, and his tone reluctant.

Sherlock nodded, but it was a bit longer before they really separated and made their way up to the roof. There, they found a man, dressed like some form of repair man, bending over the side of the roof, looking through a rifle-scope at a house below. He didn't notice either intruder. Sherlock and John exchanged a look. John pulled out his pistol and moved so that their sniper could only point at one of them at a time.

Finally, Sherlock spoke, his voice a perfect deadpan "You'd think a professional assassin would be more observant, Mr. Sebastian Moran, is it? I must say you've really let yourself go after Jim Moriarty's death."

John's eyes widened in shock, so this was him, this was "Jim's" assassin. To the man's credit, he didn't jump from shock at the realization that Sherlock Holmes was up there. John was fairly sure the man had been in the military, and that was before he saw his "dog tags." Sebastian stood and faced Sherlock, his whole expression defiant.

"You again." he sneered.

John was probably the only one who saw Sherlock's internal battle playing out, if he would let his pride get the better of him or continue on with his ploy. It wasn't much of a fight "Rather obviously." the detective brought himself to his full height.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he pulled a smaller gun from his pocket and pointed it at Sherlock.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Sherlock motioned towards John, who was gripping his pistol rather tightly by then.

"Of course, of course, your pet is here." Sebastian sneered "Does the little doctor even know how to use a gun?"

John ignored the insult, he was a bit preoccupied with making sure Sherlock didn't get shot, but Sherlock took it personally, though it didn't make much sense in retrospect, and retorted "I would have expected better from the _great_ Jim Moriarty's prized sniper, but I suppose he didn't pick you for your brains. If you remember correctly, he was the one who shot your taxi-driver serial killer."

Sebastian flashed a nasty grin "How sweet, protecting your pet. I must say you've gone soft." he laughed hysterically "Lucky me, I get to finish of the job Jim started." his expression turned angry and dangerous "Before you killed him!"

"Just like Jim to hire someone even more unbalanced than himself." Sherlock shook his head in exasperation "There are no _competent_ criminals these days."

"I will KILL you!" Sebastian Moran threw his gun to the ground and rushed at Sherlock.

John had somehow managed to anticipate the man's action an instant before it occurred. He pulled the trigger, and a bullet tore through the man's leg. He let out a cry as he collapsed to the ground. John approached, getting as close as he deemed safe, and pointed the gun at Sebastian's head.

"If you make one move towards him." John threatened.

The detective, who had been catching his breath, finally spoke "T-Thank you."

John grinned mischievously "You can thank me latter."

"Oh, stop your flirting!" Sebastian managed to exclaim despite clenched teeth.

"With pleasure" Sherlock ignored the interruption and grinned as well.

He was about to make some other remark, when a team of aurors appeared on the scene, amongst them was Harry.

"Sorry I took so long." Harry explained "It took a while to gather a team."

"We managed." Sherlock replied.

"I see."

With that Sherlock and John stepped aside. The aurors took over and questioned him. John sat on the side and watched as Sherlock listened to the questioning – the man did just as Sherlock had predicted – and gave his orders for what they would be doing next. A few aurors took Sebastian to St. Mungo's to be healed and obliviated, while the rest prepared the ambush. Sherlock downed a sludge-like brown liquid. For a moment, nothing happened, until suddenly his features began to melt and he turned into Sebastian. One of the aurors magically switched the two's clothing. Sherlock then downed another liquid that didn't _appear_ to do anything.

The aurors began to leave and Sherlock walked back over to John, he was about to speak when John spoke first "Just so you know, this is probably the oddest thing I've ever seen. It's obviously you, but it's also Sebastian."

"How is it obvious?" Sherlock asked in a voice that was definitely not his own.

John shrugged "The way you carry yourself, your tone of voice, everything, it's you, but it's also him. I can't explain it."

Sherlock gave him an odd look, they stayed in silence for a moment before he helped John up and began to speak "I'll need your back up, just in case. If they suspect this is a trap, they'll defend against magic, but they won't expect us to have guns. You'll be going with the aurors. They should protect you." Sherlock murmured something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "or they'll never have another peaceful moment in their life."

John chuclked "Don't worry." they locked eyes, as they weren't allowed to lock lips with a team of aurors around.

Eventually, Sherlock turned away and they all set off. John went through the discomfort of side-along apparation yet again, finding himself right outside an abandoned wearhouse. He saw a lone man through the window, he was in a perfect location. He leveled his gun at him and waited. Sherlock walked in. He looked a lot less like himself, but John could still tell, there was _something_ about his demeanor... And that was irrelevant. The man leveled his wand at Sherlock, was ready to cast the spell when several aurors appeared surrounding him. He was apprehended almost immediately.

Despite John's focus on him, Sherlock managed to disappear amidst the chaos. John frantically searched for him, until he heard his name in that all too familiar voice. He spun around.

"You did well." he remarked as soon as his heart-rate slowed down.

"Y-you too." Sherlock replied after a pause.

"Let's go home."

"Let's" Sherlock nodded and they walked off, hand in hand, to go catch a cab and return home.


	7. Return to the Department of Mysteries

Author's note: I own neither Harry Potter nor Sherlock nor The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Features mild slash.

**Chapter 7: Return to the Department of Mysteries**

They didn't see Harry again until the next morning. It was a good thing too, considering their evening activities. A knock at the door interrupted their breakfast.

"Come in." Sherlock called out, the door was unlocked as usual – anyone they wanted to keep out would have been able to get in anyways, so they didn't bother locking it during the day.

Harry entered and walked into the kitchen, he took the remaining seat and turned towards his son, "I thought you might want to hear what we found out; he confessed."

John quickly went and prepared another cup of tea, before returning and giving it to Harry.

Sherlock nodded and pressed his fingertips together, he focused his intent gaze on his father, "Go on."

"Right now we're arresting the rest of them; he was only one of a whole group of Unspeakables. They were all working on some research, trying to create a zombie army to overthrow the ministry, or so they say."

"Really?" John interrupted.

"Apparently." was Harry's reply, "I just got back from seeing Rose. At first she didn't remember what she saw, but after undoing the damage they did, her story agrees. She saw something she shouldn't have and they tried to shut her up. The same probably happened to Mr. Kirkland, he just wasn't as lucky."

Sherlock nodded, deep in thought. Harry finished his tea in one gulp. Suddenly he froze. His features began to bubble and change, like that potion, whatever it was called.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed.

John grabbed his gun and pointed it at the woman in front of them. She had her wand out and was rapidly switching her aim from Sherlock to John and back again. John circled her, so that he was opposite to Sherlock and she couldn't aim at both of them so easily. She began to spin around to focus on him when Sherlock spoke.

"So predictable." he yawned "I realized last night might have been an ambush; too easy otherwise. I also happen to know my own father. Even if it was really him, acting a bit unusually, reverse polyjuice potion wouldn't have hurt him if it was really him. So, let me guess, you're here to finish off the job, to Obliviate me and pretend like it never happened." the woman didn't make a move, so Sherlock just continued, "And my father, he's back at home with his memories perfectly fixed so that he doesn't remember a thing. Well, I can't have you waking up on me..."

Sherlock then went to the pantry and grabbed a vial filled with some glowing red liquid "The great thing about this one, is that it doesn't need to be ingested to work." he poured it onto her, and the instant the first red beam hit her head, she collapsed.

"Essance de stupify." Sherlock explained, before turning to John, "Well, lets go, we have a department to raid."

John put back his gun and focused on Sherlock "You know I can't use magic."

"I know. I also happen to know a few of the best witches and wizards in the world. Also, you'll need to drink this," Sherlock pulled a vial filled with gentle blue tinted liquid from the cabinet and dolled it off into two cups "It protects you from loosing your memory."

John nodded and they both drank up, once they were finished, John said, "Where to now?"

"First, Grimauld Place, then St. Mungo's-" Sherlock froze cold as he finished the statement.

"What is it?"

"We need to go, now!"

They ran up to the fire Sherlock went first, shouting "St. Mungo's..." before he left. John followed suit. They arrived in the crowded hospital. Sherlock ran up to the lift and John barely made it. They went up to the 2nd floor and, thanks to Sherlock's amazing memory, managed to run straight to Rose's ward with no need to ask for directions. They ran in to find nothing out of the ordinary. Scorpius was at the bedside holding his sleeping wife's hand, their children were no where to be found, probably back with Ron and Hermione or Arthur and Molly. And there was no one else there.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, glanced around, and threw some of the potion from earlier around the room, nothing out of the ordinary showed up. That was when it must have clicked. Sherlock spun around and ran from the room. John followed, and soon enough they found themselves back in the atrium. John glanced around frantically for Sherlock, finally he found him next to one of the many fires lining the room, leaning over into it, so that his head was almost entirely consumed. John ran over, but Sherlock didn't seem to notice him. He placed a gentle hand on Sherlock's back, telling the detective he was there, but Sherlock just shrugged it off.

Finally, he emerged from the fire "We need to get home, now." was all he said before throwing some more powder into the fireplace and calling out "221B Baker Street."

John followed suit. By the time he got home, Sherlock was already texting like a madman. John decided it wasn't worth asking. He was about to go into the kitchen and grab something to eat; who knew when he might get the chance to eat next, with Sherlock like that, when a knock sounded at the door. John sighed. He walked to the door and opened it. Outside was Lily. She greeted him with a hug and jumped in the room.

"I'm here!" she exclaimed.

She ran into the next room and hugged her older brother, but he ignored her and just kept texting.

She turned back to John "What's his deal?"

"He's working on a case, doesn't want to be disturbed." John shrugged "Even I can't talk to him when he's like this."

That last statement earned John a slight smile from his partner, but Sherlock quickly returned his focus to the conversation he was having, as another message announced its arrival with a buzz. John was content to return to the living room and sit in silence, working on his new blog, until Sherlock finished. Lily, on the other hand, followed him, and sat down, but stood up a few seconds later.

"Why is he taking so long?" she exclaimed.

John shrugged.

"What are you working on?" she bounced over and looked over his shoulder "What's this?"

"It's a blog, my blog actually."

"So this is called a blog...?" she asked pointing to the computer screen.

Suddenly it registered "Do you know what a computer is?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"This entire thing is a computer, a laptop computer. Computers used to be a lot bigger, but they've gotten a lot smaller over time." he explained, he felt like he was explaining to an unusual little kid.

Lily frowned pointedly "You know, even though I don't use muggle technology, I'm not a little kid."

"I'm sorry," John held up his hands in a surrender "I can't say I'm much of a teacher." he smiled as he heard Sherlock laughing slightly from the kitchen.

"So, this is a computer. What does it do?" Lily interrupted John's train of thought.

"Well, a lot of things, I can write on it, using this keyboard and I can contact other computers using the internet." John attempted to explain "A blog is a journal on the internet that everyone can see..."

"Well that seems counterproductive..." Lily remarked.

"Not really-" John began.

Sherlock walked into the room and cut him off "Mycroft was so kind as to provide us with a ministry car and a few of his 'special agents'. So it's just us. Shall we?"

They pulled on jackets and coats, and, in Sherlock's case, a scarf, and left, bidding Ms. Hudson good-bye on their way out.

"Have a nice day, dears. Don't get hurt." she called after them.

Both John and Sherlock grinned at the statement, that had become a running joke between them. Lily just shrugged and assumed the old woman was being motherly. They walked out to the ministry cars. Lily got shotgun, while Sherlock and John sat in the back. They drove through London at a breakneck pace, that John was quite confident couldn't be legal. On multiple occasions John found them going the wrong way, driving on the pavement, and generally going places they weren't supposed to.

Neither Sherlock, nor Lily, nor anyone else, for that matter, seemed to notice, let alone be a bit unnerved. John decided that it would probably be best if he just stopped looking out the window and instead turned to focus on Sherlock. The detective seemed to have been watching him the entire time, for a moment they sat there, looking at each other in a way that could easily have been called staring, and would have been awkward if they weren't a couple. Finally Sherlock decided to break the silence.

"So, you have questions." he smiled.

John laughed "It just so happens that I do. What's the plan?"

"We're going to lead a team of Mycroft's 'special agents' into the Department of Mysteries where they're working on the memories of everyone they could get a hold of. Lily will take us in, but we'll need cover. Be ready to shoot, just in case." Sherlock explained.

"You sure Lily can manage it alone?" John glanced at his partner's sister, humming and "dancing" along to something John couldn't hear.

"She won't be alone, she'll have us and Mycroft's people, but they're just back up, she would _probably_ be fine on her own."

John shrugged, "Okay..."

"You'll see." Sherlock smiled mischievously.

"Now you're just scaring me."

Sherlock turned to look John in the eyes, his expression serious despite the joking tone to John's comment "Don't worry, we'll be fine."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"I know, and I'm saying we'll both be fine. I know what I'm doing." Sherlock held his head in his most arrogant "don't underestimate me" way.

John sighed "I hope so."

Sherlock was about to reply when the car suddenly stopped. They grabbed for the other as they were thrown forwards, almost out of their seats. Somehow they managed to survive, with no pain at all. Lily completely ignored the sudden stop and was the first out of the car.

"You okay?" John asked, quickly scanning Sherlock for any injury.

"Never been better. You?" the detective replied.

John smiled, "Perfect."

Their little conversation was interrupted by Lily tapping impatiently at the window.

"Let's go." John motioned towards Lily.

"Let's."

Sherlock got out of the car and helped John do the same. They all left the driver to park the car, and walked to the phone booth that Rose had been shot at. Reflexively, both Sherlock and John scanned the horizon. When their eyes met and they realized that the other was doing the same they both smiled and had to stop themselves from laughing. Lily ignored them and ran up to the phone booth. She coughed impatiently and held the door open for her brother and his "cute friend" who were being _so_ slow.

Finally they both entered, John first followed closely by Sherlock. After a glance at John, who was busy focusing on Sherlock, Lily dialed the phone said she and her brother were there to give a friend a tour. She listed all their names and soon enough name-stickers fell from the phone. They each put theirs on and soon found themselves in a lift, speeding down into a large lobby. From there, Lily led the way, taking them into a lift, down to the same floor as before, and out into the hallway and that circular room with doors. John had a feeling he was being watched.

Lily, almost immediately, pulled out her wand and muttered a few words under her breath, while waving the stick around in quick little motions. One of the doors popped open and she led them through, her wand outstretched. It was the Brain Room. Leaning up against the green glowing tanks were Hermione and Harry and several aurors, recognizable by the insignia on their robes. They all seemed free, but from the way they were sitting they must have been tied by some invisible rope. It wasn't the most outlandish thing John had seen – or not seen – with Sherlock.

Lily waved her wand and suddenly they all fell, as if released from ropes. Suddenly a shout echoed around the chamber and a flash of light nearly hit Lily. She had just enough time to block it. Suddenly flashes of different colored lights were flying across the chamber. John dove to the ground and pulled Sherlock down with him. Lily had somehow managed to not get hit once and had made their assailants visible as well. Suddenly the door flew open. A team of people, in what could only be described as armored robes, ran in the room. They started casting spells too.

John was glad both he and Sherlock had already gotten out of the way. With just Lily they had been barely surviving, but once what had to have been Mycroft's people, as Sherlock had called them, they were winning. The Unspeakables were shackled, their wands were taken, and they were lead out of the room by Mycroft's people. Lily leaned against the wall, exhausted. The aurors left to get their wands back.

They all made their way back upstairs. Those who were injured were immediately sent to St. Mungoes. Harry led everyone else to his office, and one by one they walked in to give their statements. Sherlock and John were last, and eventually they found themselves alone in the hallway.

"So, what was that all about?" John asked.

"Mr. James Smith, the current head auror. His wife died a few months back. He was trying to bring her back to life. The rest were either intimidated into it or decided to help."

John nodded and they fell into a pensive silence. Eventually Harry called John in, and then his own son. They each gave their statements before being herded off to St. Mungo's, just in case. They were released with little trouble and by that night they found themselves at home. Sherlock complained of being bored the very next morning.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you to all who read this story, particularly those who favorited it and story alerted it. Special thanks goes out to those who reviewed. As always, constructive criticism is much appreciated.

If you liked "Murder and a Family Reunited" go check out it's sequel: "Matchmaker, Matchmaker"


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